#drizzlewrites

Levy rubs anxiously at his neck again, the spot on his neck getting redder and redder as time wears on. 

Camila had made the grave mistake of calling at midday, asking Levy to pick her and Todd up from the airport. Heated words were exchanged. Not by Beatrice, no, by Levy. Beatrice’s eyes land on Camila and Todd now, who at least have the decency to appear properly chastised. 

While Levy had dashed off to the airport in a mad scramble, she had spent the afternoon wandering through the streets of Barcelona taking in the sights and the initial festivities of La Mercè, all while Ava attended rehearsals for tonight's Spanish Heritage Benefit Gala.

“Alice!” Levy cries out in pure relief the moment the lift doors open. “Oh, thank God you’re here, I don’t think I can take this anymore. Their flights were delayed and this one here,” he stops, inhales sharply, and points accusatorily at Todd, “Didn’t bother to get a suit,” all the while the doors slowly slide shut in agonising slow motion. 

Beatrice is the one to ram her foot into its path to stop it from fully closing on them.

“Surely, he must have been told to prepare a suit, especially,” by this point, Levy’s voice has reached a shrillness that has everyone wincing, his eyebrows almost lifting off his forehead in an impressive display, “Since this has been planned months in advance!” His eyes dart to Camila menacingly. 

The doors begin to close again. This time, Alice is the one to put out a sacrificial hand to stop it. 

“And don’t get me started on you, Camila. Once we finish the tour we’re going to discuss why Gwen just so happened to quit unexpectedly!” 

“Please…help me,” Beatrice implores Alice, stuck between Todd’s peculiar silence and Levy’s supreme levyness.

Alice smirks. “I will be taking Beatrice with me,” she says with a bored sort of droll intonation to her voice as she reaches between the two of them, pinching at Beatrice’s collar and plucking her out of the lift.

“Come on! Come on! We’re already running late as it is,” Levy yells from behind them as the others exit. “I think I’m having a heart attack!”

“Levy, it’ll be fine! Look, you’re fine, we’re all fine. Aren’t we fine?” No one agrees with Camila. Not even Todd. 

Come to think of it, Beatrice hasn’t heard Todd speak once. Ever.

“Everything’s fine, Levy. Don’t worry, Levy—get me from the airport. Hey, Todd doesn’t have a suit. Levy! Levy! Levy!” Levy continues his hysterical tirade as they advance down the hotel corridor. “Keycard for you—”

“Wait. Todd and I—”

“KEYCARD FOR YOU!” Levy slaps the keycard onto Todd’s chest along with a garment bag, ignoring Camila’s protest. “Go shower! And if you’re not downstairs in an hour I’m leaving you behind.”

Todd taps the card onto the card reader and with one last fleeting and fearful look in Camila’s direction, goes inside.

They’re running late. 

Beatrice looks down at her watch. Yup, definitely running late. 

Alice follows the bend of the corridor, trying her best to ignore the back and forth bickering that is happening between Camila and Levy. “Meet you guys downstairs later,” Alice says, stopping in front of the door to Beatrice and Ava's room.

Camila pinches her nose, annoyance coming through now. “I’m sorry for not responding to like one text, Levy!”

“You know what?” Levy gesticulates wildly, “I’m sorry there isn’t an open balcony to throw you from!”

Levy and Camila continue walking past, seemingly oblivious to having left her and Alice behind.

“How long does it take to get flowers, Beatrice?” Alice asks once they’re alone, tone a little agitated. “Ava has been calling you. You know she’s already nervous as is.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I couldn’t find carnations anywhere. I underestimated how hard it would be and by the time I did, the crowds and Levy plus company caught up with me.”

Ava has been worrying about tonight and surreptitiously, so has she. Except, Beatrice’s front has been that of strength. A show of strength and fortitude to outweigh Ava’s apprehension. She understands the fear in Ava’s mind—their preference for privacy—to not make their love a spectacle. The fear of not being in control anymore. Of allowing the world a peek into their relationship.

“It’s important to her. It’ll help.”

Alice gives her an exasperated but fond look. “Yes, I’m well aware.”

There’s friendly chatter in the hotel room as they enter. Maria and Juana going about their jobs. Ava’s hair is already in a classic flamenco style low bun—perfectly split at the middle and gelled down.

Juana walks over to them, reaching out to the carnations. There's no vocalisation of her annoyance with how long the venture has taken, but the evidence is clear on her face. She makes a quick job of cutting the stem from the flower, “No, no, no, pero no me digas. ¿Dónde oíste eso?” (No, no, no, but don't tell me. Where did you hear that from?), while continuing to gossip, neatly pinning it at the side of Ava’s bun.

“Lo escuché de una de las chicas de abajo, dicen que él también está en el hotel” (I heard it from one of the girls downstairs, they say he’s in this hotel too), Maria replies, testing a shade of blush against her wrist, then applying it to Ava’s cheek with a flourish of the makeup brush.

“We’re going to be late,” Ava says curtly once they make eye contact. She’s sitting with her arms and legs crossed, phone shoved into the crevice of her elbow. Beatrice swallows. Ava is not amused.

“I’ll be quick,” Beatrice responds, avoiding what will probably turn into a glare if she takes any longer to get ready. She’s in the adjoining bathroom and taking off her shirt when the door abruptly opens and a bathrobed Ava steps in, closing it shut behind her. “Wh—hey!”

“Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For getting the flowers,” Ava clarifies, running a soothing hand down Beatrice’s back and undoing her bra one handed. Providing access for the light, calming scratches along the entire expanse of her back. “It means a lot to me that you did.”

“I promised you that I would.”

Ava smiles, wrapping her arms around Beatrice’s waist and pulling their bodies close, breathing her in. She releases the air slowly, it tickles along Beatrice’s back and up her neck. Peppered kisses begin to land on the curvature of her shoulder as Ava nuzzles with her nose and leaves pecks with her lips.

A content sigh leaves her person. But if she doesn’t get a hold of them now, Ava will stress later. “Don’t be naughty, your makeup is done.”

“Alright, alright,” Ava whines, unwillingly pulling away, but not before giving her butt a little squish.

“You think I'm gorgeous, you want to kiss me...”, Beatrice teases while shimmying towards the shower.

“Don’t you dare quote Miss Congeniality at me, Beatrice!” Ava waves a hand halfheartedly towards her, trying to land a smack. 

“You want to hug me...You want to love me...You want to hug me...You want to smooch me...You want to…”, Beatrice continues singsonging while pulling her pants down and wiggling her butt the entire time. 

Rapid footsteps approach from behind her, right before a hand lands on her bare buttcheek with a satisfying smack. “You keep doing this and I’m going to follow you into the shower.”

“Shoo! I still need to be able to look Maria and Juana in the eyes.” Ava heaves a sigh as she turns to leave and Beatrice asks, “Are you okay? Is there anything else I can do?”

Her girlfriend’s eyebrows pinch for a moment, but it doesn’t last, eye crinkling at the corners instead. “Yeah. I need you to shower!”

—

Alice comes through the hotel double doors, hand anxiously running through her hair. “Fuck,” she says, casting her eyes outside.

“Fuck,” They all echo in unison as a crowd of hundreds passes by the front of the hotel.

The streets outside are inundated by festival goers as La Mercè is officially about to begin.

Their drivers will not be able to make it around the parade floats and multitudes of people roaming the streets. Giant gengants—papier-mâché dolls—will fill up every corner of the city as the festivities continue well into the night. The festival is projected to host over 2 million people this year, all of them attending cultural and artistic presentations throughout the city. 

But they’re not here for that. They’re here for the Spanish Heritage Benefit Gala. A gathering of various entertainers for one night in a celebration of their shared culture and history through the arts. What awaits them is a long night of red carpet, performances, awards, and after parties. 

Ava picks at the sleeve of her structured black jacket, the size of the crowd sending spirals of anxiety all through her. The dramatics of her traditional, yet, contemporary, flamenco style black dress looks more and more like a bad idea the longer she dwells on it. The form-fitting skirt, which cascades into a train with a series of ruffled silhouettes will not aid their current predicament.

It’ll be a miracle at this point if they make it with enough time for her opening number. They’ll have to forgo the red carpet. Which means that all of her and Beatrice’s planning for the red carpet—all those hours of PR training—will be for nothing. All those months spent agonising, discussing this at length, and their sleepless nights over their first public outing will be wasted. 

Stupid. 

Is she overthinking? They’ll just find another opportunity if they miss this one. 

Oh my God. She’s turned into Beatrice.

The stress must show on Ava’s face because without giving it a second thought, Beatrice crouches—her black pants and white blouse allowing for it. She begins to gather the train of Ava’s dress in several swoops, the weight of the ruffles gathering heavily on Beatrice’s chest. Ava curses at the black, flat-brimmed hat Beatrice is wearing. It’s obstructing her view of her girlfriend’s face. A face that she’s desperately trying to see because the selfless gesture alone is making Ava’s heart swoon, stomach filling up with all sorts of butterflies and magical feelings.

(*)(*)

 Siempre hay milagros…

(There will always be miracles)

Siempre hay milagros…

Beatrice looks up, face soft and adoring as she says, “We’ll make it. It’s not far.” 

And Ava is bewitched. Once again taken aback by how Beatrice expresses her love. The way Beatrice understands how important this is for them, to her. She nods in reply, unable to vocalise how such a simple act is capable of filling her with so much affection for the woman in front of her. 

Beatrice will get them there. Ava has no doubt about that.

Si tengo fe podré cantar

(With faith, I will sing)

Con la verdad podré volar

(With the truth, I will fly)

Siempre hay milagros que surgirán si hay amor

(Miracles will always arise if there is love)

Beatrice stands, casting her eyes towards the streets outside, determination written all over her face. 

Ava is shoving her matching clutch against Levy’s chest, hands coming to Beatrice’s hat, carefully pulling at the pins holding it in place, mindful to not disturb the matching carnations on Beatrice’s bun. “Just in case it falls.”

Beatrice nods.

Camila makes a dissatisfied noise at Todd when it seems like he won’t make an effort to extend his hand towards her and help her with her dress. “Todd! Hold my hand. What are you good for?!”

He scrambles forward, walking like an awkward penguin in his Armani suit, and uncertainly offers his hand for Camila to take.

Alice snickers, grabbing Beatrice’s hat from Ava’s hands. “Alright, let's face the crowds then.”

No me imagino vivir mi vida sin tu amor

(I can't imagine living my life without your love)

Estar contigo es mi ilusión, es nuestro destino

(Being with you is my dream, it's our destiny)

No necesito memorias para recordar

(I don't need memories to remember)

Que existen mil razones por ser feliz

(That there are a thousand reasons to be happy)

Siempre te amare

(I will always love you)

The bells of the Basílica de la Merced go off as they all exit the hotel. Cheers erupt from the crowds around them at the official start of the festival. Their attention instantly falling to the church, its tympanum catching the late afternoon's sun and casting shadows along the cobblestone pavement below. The bell tower’s octagonal shape reverberates the peals from the ringing bells. 

Ava’s eyes catch the statue of the Virgin Mercè at the very top of the basilica, her rust green visage gazing over the square below. The world quiets down as Ava’s gaze falls on Beatrice beside her and then back to the patron saint of the city— thoughts, prayers, and hopes expressed without a single sound.

“Wait,” Ava finds herself saying after a few seconds as the crowds begin to shove past them, completely uninterested in the regalia they’re all wearing. “Levy, take the train.” He looks between her and Beatrice, puzzled by the request, but doing it without question. Beatrice is about to protest, but Ava is quick to grab onto her hand, ending whatever objection was about to be uttered. “Don’t let go.”

“I won’t.”

Alice, now holding onto Beatrice’s hat and Ava’s clutch speaks up. “Whatever happens, you keep going. I’ll meet you guys on the red carpet.”

Camila nods and bounds ahead, “Let’s go, Todd,” dragging him behind her.

“Get her there on time, lovergirl. I’m counting on you.” Alice rushes after them, leaving her, Beatrice and Levy behind.

“Ready?” Beatrice asks, squeezing their hands together, intertwining them in a strong grip.

“Ready.”

Nada, nada nos puede separar

(Nothing, nothing will separate us)

Tú y yo, siempre aquí hasta el final

(You and I, always together until the end)

The old city of Barcelona greets them as their heels echo down the labyrinthine streets, many of which open up to smaller streets and squares. All housing medieval landmarks and the remains of the city’s Roman walls. The neo-Gothic features range from stained glass windows behind metal fenced balconies, watchful gargoyles that line every possible space, to traversing bridges above with intricate columns that adjoin the already close buildings closer together. 

Everything at once is claustrophobic and suffocating. The streets are tightly packed with people. All in different states of merriment. Many in costumes and shouting after the gengants. Their colossal heads bouncing up and down ahead, and all around them. 

Beatrice holds her hand tightly. Concerned with the amount of shoving and pushing occurring in every direction. She pushes her other hand out every so often, making way for them, making sure they don’t get trapped within the crowd. 

As they turn into an empty stretch and prepare to pass underneath El Pont Del Bisbe, Levy shrieks, his grip jerking at Ava’s dress, pulling her backwards and momentarily throwing her off balance. Beatrice reacts quickly, tensing her arm to keep Ava steady. 

They all come to a complete stop and gaze upon the horror in front of them. A child sized gengant is staring straight at them. Its humongous head adding nightmare fuel to the already creepy feeling that has descended upon the gothic quarter as the sun begins to set. The eerie skull and dagger motif along the underside of the bridge now cast into shadow and thickening the air of trepidation around them.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

“La leyenda dice que quien pase por debajo de este puente será maldecido por toda la eternidad.” (Legend says that whoever passes underneath this bridge will be cursed for all eternity.) 

The child’s voice instantly makes her uncomfortable and sends a chill up her spine. Levy babbles incoherently behind her. 

Beatrice looks over her shoulder at Levy, “Are you praying?!”

“YES! I don’t know what the THING said, but I don’t want to stick around to find out. I’ll take any help I can get,” Levy screeches, casting serious eyes at the child. Ava can almost hear Levy willing it to move itself out of their way and poof out of existence.

“We can cut through Plaça de Sant Jaume,” Ava speaks up, waving her hand dismissively at the child. The child who doesn’t move. Gilipollo (Asshole). 

Levy nervously pulls out his phone. His eyes don’t settle on the device for long, lest the child try anything funny. “Bad idea according to Maps. Very red.”

“The parade wouldn’t have gotten that far yet. It’ll just be the castellers and the people watching them.”

Beatrice is looking between her and Levy. “Are you two seriously afraid of what the kid just said?” Their eyes shift to Beatrice for only a second, then back to each other like she’s grown a second head.

“I don’t know what it said!”

“Something about a curse,” Ava supplies, pulling on Beatrice’s hand. Hard. “I’m not taking any chances!” She hisses. As clear as an indication as she can manage that they will not be going under the bridge under any circumstances. 

“SEE!” Levy insists, “Descartes, listen to your loving girlfriend! She knows what’s best.”

No cabe duda nuestro destino ya llegó

(Without a doubt our destiny has arrived)

Es una nueva vida, ya todo cambiara

(With this new life everything will change)

Es el momento que yo ya siempre anhele

(Finally the moment I longed for)

El cielo da su bendición por este amor

(The sky gives its blessing to this love)

Este amor entre dos

(The love between us two)

At the plaza, the gathering crowds surround them. They’re all sandwiched between the Palau de la Generalitat and the city hall. The palace’s towering granite columns are the perfect frame of reference for just how high the human towers are rising around them. 

The attention which was once on the castellers and its climbers have now shifted to them instead as they continue to worm their way through. With many in the rabble loudly whispering to each other while others are fervently snapping photos of them.

They’re undeterred though with Beatrice leading them forward. 

“¡Qué hermosas las dos!” (How beautiful you two are!)

“¡Bellas!” (Beautiful!)

“We need to get out of here before the giants show up,” Levy yells over the crowd, “Or we’ll turn into sad, salty sardines.”

Beatrice turns, she clicks her tongue but no sound is heard. “Don’t start with the alliteration!”

Levy huffs. “Sad, salty, sassy, sultry, stacked sardines!”

“Stop rambling, you idiot!”

The sudden noise of compressed air bursts throughout the plaza making everyone jolt in place. All taken aback by the unexpected noise as pyrotechnic charges start to set off the fuses spread throughout the classical buildings around them. One of Levy’s hands comes to his heart, his eyebrows shooting up to heights that used to be improbable in Ava’s head. 

Beatrice’s alarmed face comes close. Hands urgently seeking her, bringing their bodies near one another. Her girlfriend doesn’t know what’s happening—how silly everything is about to become around them. Her first instincts are always to protect, especially in a crowd like this.

“It’s okay,” Ava says calmly, close to Beatrice’s ear. “It’s just—”  

The people burst into cheers again as white and red confetti begins to cascade and slowly rain down all around them.

With the crowd distracted Ava tugs on Beatrice’s neck, bringing their foreheads close. The world appears to stop as their breaths intermingle. Waiting. The small pieces of paper drifting in slow motion, catching in their hair, clinging to their outfits, and brushing against their cheeks. 

Beatrice nods in understanding, but doesn’t pull away. Still distressed.

Neither of them pull away. It’s as if they’re the only people in existence. Then, slowly, softly they’re laughing against each other’s mouths, the backdrop behind them heightening the storm of their emotions. Both looking at each other’s lips. Anticipating a kiss. 

There’s nothing stopping them. They could do it right now if they wanted to, in front of all these people.

The moment their lips meet, it’s sweet and unhurried. They’re careful of each other’s makeup. Only pressing softly against the other’s lips. She giggles, kissing at Beatrice’s dimple, and then coming in for seconds, lingering a little longer this time.

When they break apart and Ava can properly see her girlfriend’s face again, this time unobstructed by the paper explosion around them, a radiant smile is tugging at her lips, all toothy and charming. 

A piece of confetti has stubbornly found its perch on one of Ava’s eyelids. Beatrice’s hand comes to it, delicately plucking it off and then blowing it away with a slow exhale. 

“The stupid giants are coming!” Levy breaks them from their spell, pulling at her train.

Then, the mass of people begin to shove and gather closer in order to get a good view of the incoming gengants.

Si hay amor, tu alma renacerá

(If there is love your soul will be reborn)

Si hay amor, el corazón vencerá

(If there is love, the heart will conquer all)

Siempre posibilidad

(Always possibilities)

No dudes mas

(No more doubting)

Todo se alcanzará

(Everything will be achieved)

The noise from the festival morphs into that of the glitz and glamour of the event and the red carpet before them. Journalists shouting over each other as they ask attendees questions. Always the same: which designer are you wearing, are you performing tonight, what are your plans after the show. Camera flashes pulsing and bouncing back from the windows of the buildings nearby. Fans being held back by temporary barriers and security on high alert for any misconduct.

Alice waves at them in acknowledgment, between dabbing at Camila’s cheeks with a tissue and dusting off Todd’s suit. They wave as well. Camila and Todd’s faces morph into obvious relief at the sight of them. “I’ve already arranged for you guys to skip the red carpet. They’ll pull you through—”

Ava brings her hand up. “That’s okay, we’ll do the carpet,” turning to look at Beatrice for confirmation before continuing, “There’s enough time.”

Alice arches her eyebrow. “Ava,” tugging at her arm, “I don’t need to remind you that you’re opening—”

“We’ll be quick,” Beatrice says, brooking no further argument. She holds Ava’s hand in her own. Strong. Mind already set on the task before them.

Levy releases Ava’s train, patting it a few times and quickly scanning both of them for anything out of place. He dislodges the last of the white and red confetti stuck to their outfits, then, with a satisfied breath, fixes his own suit. Alice extends Beatrice’s hat to him and he pins it at an angle, making sure to show off the carnations at the side of her bun. 

All through this Ava watches on as Beatrice looks at the red carpet and then back to her, determination clear.

As they step onto the carpet hand in hand, the camera flashes become more incessant, making it hard to see more than a few metres in front of them. The noise grows exponentially louder too as journalists notice their arrival. All vying to yell out questions at them in the hopes of receiving an answer. They don’t stop for longer than a few seconds. There isn’t time to. Alice ushers them forward, and Levy does the same behind them with Camila and Todd.

One of the journalists directs their question to her, but remains mindful of Beatrice beside her, greeting the both of them. “¿Ava, Beatrice cantará hoy contigo?” (Ava, will Beatrice sing with you today?)

“No, esta noche no.” (No, not tonight, no.)

A frown then, an animated, “Nos morimos por escucharlas cantar juntas.” (We’re dying to hear you sing together.)

Beatrice smiles and says, “Quizás pronto” (Maybe soon), catching the journalist by surprise.

The journalist recovers quickly enough, this time addressing both of them. “Qué bueno finalmente verlas a ambas juntas.” (It’s good to finally see you both together.) They smile as the journalist continues, “¿Qué esperan ver esta noche?” (Is there anything you’re looking forward to seeing tonight?)

Ava stays quiet, allowing Beatrice the chance to answer the question first. Hand now coming up to rest upon Beatrice’s lower back, stroking gently with her thumb in encouragement.

“Estoy esperando con ansias el número de Ava.” (I’m yearning to see Ava’s performance.)

“Vaya. La novia es una habladora muy suave.” (Wow. The girlfriend sure knows how to smooth talk.) They all laugh at Beatrice’s eagerness. “¿Y Ava?” (And Ava?)

“Bueno, definitivamente quiero oír a David Bisbal cantar.” (Well, I definitely want to hear David Bisbal sing.)

“¿Ah, sí? Creo que pasó por aquí hace unos segundos.” (Oh, yes? I think he passed by here a few seconds ago.)

Beatrice huffs a petulant little huff next to her. Eyes darting to the red carpet ahead of them. Acquiring her target. But it’s as they’re nearing the final stretch of journalists and cameras that Beatrice leans in and whispers, “There goes your future husband. Him and his beautiful curls.” 

It’s meant to be a tease. Beatrice is being adorably cheeky. 

It’s on the tip of her tongue, the reply she wants to give. No, there’s only one person I want to marry.

But she can’t. She shouldn’t. Right?

Instead, she tugs Beatrice back against her. “No,” she says, eyes staring deep into Beatrice’s startled ones, tone devoid of any ambiguity, “Unfortunately, he’s already married.”

The cameras all catch Beatrice’s exasperated groan and the roll of her eyes. 

Si tengo fe podré cantar

(With faith, I will sing)

Con la verdad podré volar

(With the truth, I will fly)

Siempre hay milagros que surgirán si hay amor

(Miracles will always arise if there is love)

Sueños que son realidad

(Dreams that have become reality)

Serán nuestros por la eternidad

(They will be ours for all eternity)

Con la paciencia todo vendrá, si hay amor

(With patience everything will come if there is love)

—

“Alright, now that we’re alone…” Camila “whispers”, leaning forward in her chair conspiratorially, “Spill. What has Ava been working on this whole time?”

“I—”

Todd’s face comes into view from behind Camila. “I’m right he—”

So he can speak.

Camila places the tip of her finger upon Todd’s barely parted lips. “Be quiet Todd! Don’t ruin this for me!” She takes a moment to settle herself, then faces Beatrice again, eyes more determined than before. “Come on! I know you know something.”

Beatrice laughs. But the moment the chuckle slips out, she regrets it. Camila is narrowing her eyes, a degree a millisecond. Getting narrower and narrower the longer she takes to answer. “I actually don’t know. She’s been pretty tight lipped about it and any time I ask she gets this panicked look.”

“Ava’s nervous about performing it?”

“I don’t think so. Not from what I’ve gathered. Excited, mostly.” Come to think of it, Ava had barely mentioned the performance beyond extending the invitation to the event. Which was all done in a very thought out way and presented to Beatrice like a well rehearsed TED talk. Almost like Ava had anticipated all of Beatrice’s questions and beat her to them. The funny thing was, she didn’t have any questions and only had one answer to give. Her acceptance had been followed by countless hours of drilling by Ava’s public relations team on what to expect, which journalists to watch out for, and how to reply, but not about the performance itself. “I thought maybe you knew something, you’ve been behaving rather strangely recently.”

Camila’s eyes bulge. “Me? Behaving weirdly?! Why would you say that? That’s such a funny thing to say, Beatrice.” She slaps at Beatrice’s arm a few times, breathing in like a fish out of water and continues, “I’ve been perfectly myself, thank you very much.”

Now her eyes are narrowing. “Camila, I’m only teasing.”

Relief oozes out of Camila. “Oh thank God, okay.”

Beatrice takes the moment of quiet that Camila—weirdly—offers to truly take in the grandeur of the theatre around them and the size of the audience that has gathered. As she angles her body and cranes her neck from side to side, the opulent horseshoe shape is an incredible expanse to take in, with its five balconies and breathtaking ornate ceiling. The gold gilding is everywhere she looks. From the moldings, balconies, railings and around each private box. The deep red of the velvet seats and curtains creating the perfect contrast. 

It’s impossible to resist the urge to look up, and when she does she’s immediately taken aback by the detailed carvings, sculptural reliefs and elaborate plasterwork that covers the ceiling above them. The post-modern baroque style is dramatic and on full display. There’s eight immense oculi mirrors that reflect back the red and gold of the theater, with a center dome anchoring the extravagant allegorical ornamentation and housing the chandelier.

Levy’s enthusiastic wave catches her eye from the second level and Alice, who is sitting beside him, throws out a few gang signs and sticks out her tongue for good measure. Beatrice waves back at Levy, then pulls down the bottom of her lower eyelid followed by poking out her tongue at Alice.

The dome begins to dim and the chatter dies down around the theater. Lights around the proscenium arch gradually recede back, creating an intimate mood. And then, all at once everyone inside the theater is enveloped into complete darkness. 

As they sit there in silence, only the steps coming from backstage are heard.

One of the oculi above retracts and a singular light source lowers itself, focusing on stage left.

(*)(*)

A flamenco guitar begins to play offstage and it’s enough for the audience around them to start clapping enthusiastically to the beat of the bulería. Beatrice’s hands shoot up instantly, joining in as well.

Ava emerges, her voice strong and steady as she immediately sets the tone of the performance. There are no lyrics initially, just an improvised run coming straight from the imaginary force propelling her towards the stage. The train of her dress and spotlight madly keeping up with the strength of her steps.

Qué suerte la que yo tuve

(How lucky I was)

El día que la encontré

(The day I found her)

Lo he señalaíto a punta de navaja, prima, sobre la paré)

(I was found at the point of a blade perfectly against the wall)

Lo he señalaíto a punta de navaja, prima, sobre la paré

The proscenium arch lights slowly begin to glow again, creating a frame around the stage—the illusion of the fourth wall—focusing the audience’s attention. Ava at the center, is now joined by palmeros and guitarists as they take their seats a few metres behind her. Four women with microphones, all wearing red flamenco dresses, take their place around Ava. The backdrop behind them is that of a clear night sky, with only small specks of light to represent stars.

Como las hoja' de un cuchillo brillaban los sacáis suyo' cuando le di el anillo

(Like the blade of a knife her eyes shimmered when I gave her the ring)

Brillaban los sacái' 

(Eyes shimmered)

Brillaban los sacái'

Brillaban los sacáis suyo'

(Her eyes shimmered)

Brillaban los sacái' 

Brillaban los sacái'

Que brillanan sus sacái'

(How her eyes shimmered)

Wait. 

She was following along, well sort of, up to this point. Beatrice inclines herself ever so slightly to whisper into Camila’s ear. “What does that mean?”

“What?” Camila hisses back at the interruption.

“What Ava just said. Sak—sakaa—iii—”

“Shhh!”

“Camila—tell me—”

“SHHH!”

Ava raises her free hand and addresses the audience, momentarily breaking the illusion. 

Si hay alguien que aquí se oponga que no levante la vo'

(If anyone here objects don’t raise your voice)

Que no lo escuche la novia

(Don’t let the bride hear you)

Camila’s head minutely turns to her. And she has the overwhelming urge to ask what the fuck is happening. And why Ava is seemingly looking in their direction. What did the word mean? Actually, what did any of these words mean? She has learned the language Goddamn it, what do you mean she now has to learn to interpret it as well?

Novia means girlfriend. Girlfriend lifting her voice? Not listening?

Beatrice’s mind is attempting in real time to give context to the words she knows but can’t draw any meaning from.

Que no salga la luna, que no tiene pa qué

(Moon, don’t appear, there’s no reason to)

No tiene pa qué, no tiene pa qué

(No reason to, no reason to)

Con tus ojito', prima, yo me alumbraré

(With your moon like eyes I will light my way)

Que no salga la luna, que no tiene pa qué

Que no tiene pa qué, no tiene pa qué, no tiene pa qué

Con tus ojito', prima, yo me alumbraré

Que no salga la luna, que no tiene pa qué

Que no tiene pa qué, no tiene pa qué, no tiene pa qué

Con tus ojito', prima, yo me alumbraré

The women step in four different directions away from Ava. Each bursting into an expressive dance with intricate footwork, all weaved around the art of emotional storytelling. Where there is synchronicity and precision in the women, there is spontaneity in Ava. She’s striking the floor with her heels, toes, and soles, creating a complex pattern that blends with the sudden shift in music. Free hand doing sweeping and circular motions, fingers and wrist unfurling gracefully to imitate smoke rising. Ava’s silver bracelet reflecting back the lights above outward to the audience.

Qué bonita está mi novia, que se merece un trono ¡Reina!

(How beautiful my bride looks, she deserves a throne. Queen!)

Coroná de brillante'

(Crowned brilliantly)

Con perla' y oro

(With pearls and gold)

Coroná de brillante'

Con perla' y oro

Ava holds herself proudly, shoulders back, a strong posture projecting strength and elegance.

Beatrice remembers those nights years ago, Ava on the floor of her flat, excitedly jumping from video to video. Teaching her about flamenco. Really teaching her. When the singer holds herself like this, she had said, pointing at the woman in the video holding herself exactly as Ava is now in front of her, it means she has the urge to release her emotions.

Quiera o no quiera, lo quiera ella o no quiera

(Whether she wants it or not, whether she does or doesn’t) 

Va a estar conmigo hasta que se muera (es lo que hay)

(She will remain with me until she dies) (It’s what it is)

Ava had stood at some point, blanket forgotten as she rushed to the TV and jumped in excitement. The hair thing! She had said and Ava nodded eagerly. You know, that only really happens when the performance is meaningful, it’s a moment of passion, the ultimate form of expression. 

Ava closes her eyes and reaches to the clasp holding her low bun. The carnations fall to the floor as her loose hair cascades down in waves.

Clava’ de plata 

(A Silver bracelet)

Clava’ de plata

Sin decir na, a mí me ha jurao que ella por mí se mata

(Without saying a thing, she swore, for me she would destroy herself)

Sin decir na, a mí me ha jurao que ella por mí se mata

With her eyes now open, Ava gathers her hair and smiles. It can mean a lot of things, heartbreak, anger, or complete happiness, Ava had clarified as the singer picked up her hair, twisting it around and around. 

Beatrice sits back in her chair, utterly captivated by Ava’s enchanting voice. The raw emotions trigger all manner of memories. All culminating in the one that started it all. The day she first heard Ava sing and how taken aback she had been then. How Ava’s voice had tangled itself inside her and still continues to today.

The four singers walk back to Ava as she spins in place, winding her gathered mane in circles above her.

Que toma, que toma, que toma, que toma, toma, toma

(Take it, take it, take it, take it, take, take)

A la virgencita de la Mercé un rezo

(A prayer to the virgin Mercé)

Penitencia pagó, que por sus beso'

(Penance I’ll pay for her kisses)

Penitencia pagó, que por sus beso'

Girlfriend—Beatrice recalls later that evening when her senses are not being overwhelmed by everything around her and they’re all mingling and celebrating the success of the event—can also mean bride. 

Ava is tugging her excitedly along as they move around the after party. 

“La novia!” Arch nemesis David Bisbal says as they pass by him and his beautiful curls—hand in hand with his wife.

Ava smiles widely in confirmation, spreading her arms and fingers out as if presenting a work of art, “La novia!” Eyes adoringly on Beatrice and Beatrice alone. 

—

Beatrice holds her breath as she gently rotates the door knob and eases the door open, millimetre by millimetre. 

Thankfully, the door hinges do not squeak and alert the inhabitant.

The shutters are open and there’s just enough light coming through the window—as night begins to give way to dawn—to highlight Ava’s sleeping figure on the bed. 

The bedspread has slipped sometime during the night and only half covers her body. 

Ava’s in her favourite sleeping position, sprawled out across the middle of the bed on her tummy, head nestled in the space between both of their pillows and face turned towards the door. Her hair has fallen forward and is covering much of her features. Left arm flung outwards and resting in the space that would normally be occupied by Beatrice. Even without the benefit of seeing it, Beatrice knows that Ava’s right hand is tucked beneath her own pillow. 

Ava jerks awake in shock at the sensation of Beatrice sliding into bed beside her.

“Shhh, it’s okay, go back to sleep,” Beatrice whispers, gathering Ava’s form into her arms and tugging her close, their heads moving to share the same pillow. 

“Bea?”Ava croaks out, her eyes barely opening and squinting in confusion, already shifting closer out of habit and reaching out to fist her hands into Beatrice’s sleep shirt. “What? What are you doing home already? What time is it?”

“It’s just after 6 am, I caught an earlier flight out,” Beatrice gently massages her fingers into the nape of Ava’s neck, tickling over the fine baby hairs present there. The relaxing motion and pressure doing its job of lulling Ava back to sleep. “Shhh, just sleep, it’s okay.” 

The last thing that Ava manages to mumble before her eyes slowly blink close—small snores emitting from her slightly opened mouth is a quiet but clear, “Welcome home.”

A sudden wave of contentment overwhelms Beatrice quite unexpectedly. 

Home. 

As she had taken her final bows and looked out at the screaming fans, the prevailing thought had not been bittersweet feelings at the end of yet another tour; gratitude; or even relief; no, instead all she had felt was elation at getting to head home to Ava. Anticipation at the stretch of downtime before them. 

Beatrice had all but torn off her tour outfit, bid a quick goodbye to the rest of the band and the crew—having taken the time earlier in the day to thank them all individually for sticking with The Cruciforms for the entirety of the tour, and then rushed into the car waiting to speed through traffic to Changi Airport. She had spent the entirety of the 14 hour flight wide awake, daydreaming of everything before them––to make good on that promise of seeing Yasmine’s jazz band, and how fun it’ll be to follow Ava around on tour when the time comes.

Now laying here with a slumbering Ava wholly ensconced in her arms, faces mere centimeters apart on the pillow, and each breath that Ava exhales fanning out over Beatrice’s face, everything feels so so right. It feels like she’s finally where she belongs. 

Tracking her eyes over the delicate features of her girlfriend’s face, gazing upon her whole world, before nuzzling closer and dropping a barely there kiss upon the slope of Ava’s nose, Beatrice too succumbs to the warmth of their bed covers, the familiar mattress, and the comfort of being back home with Ava.

When Beatrice next awakens, the October morning sunshine is already streaming through the windows and bathing the bedroom in a pale golden light. Ava is still pressed close when Beatrice’s eyelashes flutter open, blearily blinking away the few hours of rest, but it’s evident that Ava’s been awake for some time now. Her eyes are alert and focused intently on Beatrice’s face, a slight furrow to her brows marring her features as she appears to be in deep contemplation. 

A wide smile overtakes Ava’s face as she registers that Beatrice is awake, joy abundantly clear in her expression, “Amor, good morning.”

Beatrice suppresses a yawn as she awakens further, smiling back at Ava in turn. “Good morning my love. What’s got you so deep in thought this early in the morning?”

A wispy laugh answers Beatrice’s question. Ava’s eyes briefly cut away from her face to glance behind her towards the bedroom door before Ava shrugs her shoulders, “Nothing really. Are you hungry? I picked up some groceries yesterday before I came home.”

Beatrice briefly purses her lips at the obvious deflection.

In its usual traitorous way, Beatrice’s stomach rumbles audibly at that exact moment. 

Ava throws her head back in a loud peal of laughter at the timing, exposing the column of her throat. “The beast has spoken.” 

“I love you,” the words bubble out of Beatrice’s mouth without thinking, second nature by now. “I really really love you.”

“Bea. I’m so in love with you. I don’t think there are enough words to describe how much I love you.” Their foreheads creep forward just a tad until they’re touching, Beatrice’s hand coming up to cup Ava’s cheek, gently tugging her chin to seal their lips together with a solid pressure. Their lips move against each other with a practiced ease, intimately familiar with the lip line, plush and plump at the cupid’s bow and the gentle contour out to the outside corners. 

Long moments pass where the only sound in the bedroom is the rustle of the bedsheets and the small murmurs escaping their mouths as they press their lips together over and over again.

Eventually, Beatrice’s stomach makes its protests known, angrily growling out again into the quietness of the bedroom. Ava’s lips begin to shake against hers, breaking out into laughter; loud and intense, so much so that her eyes crease at the corners. She wishes she could fake at being affronted but can’t bring herself to, helpless against the sheer adoration of Ava that engulfs her whole being. “Lucky me.”

With one final firm kiss, Ava swings a leg over Beatrice’s hips and clambers across her to get out of their bed, making sure to turn back and smooth the covers over Beatrice again before she leaves the bedroom.

Ava must turn on the speakers on her way to the kitchen because Beatrice finds herself whistling along to the plucking of the guitar strings.

(*)(*)

Just imagine, we woke up in paradise

Don't need magic, let my force just carry us home

Home tonight

Lying in bed for a few seconds longer, and looking around their bedroom, Beatrice’s eyes catch upon all the little additions Ava has made since moving in: the wooden heirloom jewelry box sitting atop the desk, the cheerful yellow ceramic mushroom nestled amongst the bookshelves and perched next to a Totoro figurine, several of Ava’s own well-worn and dog-eared books, and all the way down to the pair of discarded socks on the floor beside their bed.

On the table is the picture of them together at the Grammys rehearsals, with a polaroid of them posing next to the Fearless Girl wedged into the frame. And back in its rightful spot on the wall by Ava’s side of the bed, is the watercolour painting of the Champs-Élysées at nighttime. Ava’s first ever present to her.

Future’s golden, don't let go, don't give it up

Just keep holding, even when you’ve had enough

I, I will be your light

As the strumming of the chords continue and the chorus starts, Beatrice finally gets out of bed, shuffling out of the bedroom and towards Ava.

When you’re low, I'll lead you home, Chariot

Take you back to where you're from, Chariot

The bouquet of pink flowers centred on top of the coffee table catches Beatrice’s attention as she walks through the living room.

She enters the kitchen to Ava swaying along to the song, all while she scrambles eggs in a bowl. Bacon already sizzling away in a frypan. Cute. 

One step forward, on the road ahead of us

Don't look back, no

You just need a bit of luck

Ohh, ohh, tonight

“What are the flowers for?” Beatrice loudly questions, raising her voice to be heard over the volume of the music, Ava persisting with her habit of blasting it at ungodly levels.

At that, Ava turns to her, already aiming the remote at the speaker system to turn down the music, a playful huff emitting from her lips and a glare narrowing her eyes. 

“They’re Nerines, also called Guernsey Lilies. Luce recommended them last night when I swung by the shop. And they were supposed to be for a certain someone when I picked her up from the airport later today. When she was actually scheduled to land, instead of creeping in and startling me half to death.” Ava twirls closer, crowding into Beatrice and plopping a kiss onto her cheek, “Have I told you yet that I’m so happy you’re back early?”

Beatrice bodily shrugs, shoulders coming up to meet her ears, a rueful grin on her face, “Is it too sappy to say, I didn’t want to wait any longer to see you? I just jumped onto the first available flight after the concert ended.”

When you're low, I'll lead you home, Chariot

Take you back to where you're from, Chariot

When you're low, I’ll lead you home, Chariot

Take you back to where you’re from, Chariot

Ava’s pouring olive oil into another frypan now, waiting a few moments for the oil to heat before dumping the scrambled eggs in after it. 

There's something so utterly mundane about the activity, something so wonderful about the mundanity of it all that Beatrice has to swallow down the sudden lump in her throat at the sight. Clearing her throat quickly, she asks, “What do the lilies mean? And is there anything I can do to help?” 

Yeah-yeah, yeah-yeah

Yeah-yeah, yeah-yeah

When you’re low, I’ll lead you home, Chariot

“They’re supposed to symbolise resilience and beauty in adversity. Something about purity and rebirth.” Ava is making her concentrated face, pinched eyebrows meeting at the middle and staring down at the eggs as she soft scrambles them with a spatula, almost absentmindedly answering Beatrice, “And yes please, can you toast the sourdough and make drinks?”

“Cafesito, okay?” 

Ava hums in reply.

Take you back to where you’re from, Chariot

Yeah-yeah, yeah-yeah

As they continue to comfortably bustle past each other in the kitchen in relative silence, the gentle guitar strings of the next song, Let Me Let You Go, begin. 

(*)(*)

Beatrice follows the steps exactly as Ava had done a few minutes before. “Like this?” she asks, concentrating hard on mixing the sugar and the crema.

Ava nods into Beatrice’s back, looping her arms around her waist. “Are your arm muscles burning?”

“Yes.”

“If it’s not burning you’re doing it wrong.”

“It’s burning!”

As Beatrice frantically whips the sugar and crema, fighting hard to ignore the burn and strain in her forearm, she asks, “Did the meeting go well?” 

The whipping comes to a screeching halt when Ava hums noncommittally in reply, busy seasoning the eggs with crumbled feta and red pepper flakes. 

“Ava? Did they not agree?” Beatrice’s tone spikes in volume, concern apparent. Heart rate hammering away now.

At Beatrice’s obvious worry, Ava promptly swings away from the stove and towards her, approaching with big, rapid steps and places a hand on Beatrice’s tense forearm. Eyebrows furrowed, this time in alarm. 

“Wh—Bea, my love. Yes, of course, they agreed to the move. Were…were you worried? You were concerned that they wouldn’t let me move here? You hadn’t—you didn’t tell me you were nervous. I would’ve told you it wasn’t going to be an issue.”

Beatrice feels her shoulders relax infinitesimally at the conviction in Ava’s reply, loosening a small breath, “I’m not sure? I think I was a little apprehensive when you said that all the studio executives wanted to meet with you to discuss it. But I didn’t realise I was actually anxious about it until just now. When it seemed like they didn’t say yes.”

“Bea.” Ava crowds closer, moving in so that her face is all that Beatrice can see. “Listen to me, please. I’m going to be living here. Yes, I might have to fly back and forth a bit as needed but I am going to be based out of London for as long as we—you want me to be here. Nothing they said was going to change that.” Ava gives her forearm a gentle squeeze. “I need you to tell me in the future if you’re worried about anything. Ever. Even just a little bit.”

Beatrice nibbles briefly at the side of her lip, a smidgen of hesitation remaining. “What would have happened if they had said no? What will happen if there’s something in the future that they don’t like? They’re still a predominantly Latin-centric label.”

Ava leans in, shifting her body weight onto Beatrice for support and brings her mouth up to Beatrice’s ear, whispering “Les hubiera dicho que se fueran a chupar las pollas.” (I would have told them to go suck their dicks.)

“Ava! No seas vulgar!” (Ava! Don’t be vulgar!) Beatrice yelps, only minorly scandalised now at her girlfriend’s constant cheekiness. 

Drawing back from her ear, Ava’s grinning face and twinkling eyes fills Beatrice’s perspective again. 

Leaning in, Ava punctuates every word with a kiss upon Beatrice’s lips. “Me [kiss] necesitan [kiss] más [kiss] de [kiss] lo [kiss] que [kiss] yo [kiss] los [kiss] necesito [kiss] a [kiss] ellos [kiss]. Y siempre te necesitaré más. So stop worrying.” (They need me more than I need them. And I’ll always need you more.) 

As they sit down to eat at the dining table, Ava spears at a single rasher of bacon before pushing the rest of the plate towards her. Beatrice shoots her a look, pushing it back to her. 

Ava sighs with a shake of her head and pushes the plate back again. “I can’t. I have to go to the gym soon. François is forcing me to strength train after cardio.” At that, Ava pitches up her voice into an exaggeration of an outraged Frenchman, “A-vah! You cannot go on tour like zis. Your muscles are non-exiztant! You are weak, weak! Tu me casses les couilles.” (You’re breaking my balls.)

Beatrice tries and fails to suppress her snort. “François does not sound like that. Besides, I told you, if you just kept on top of your fitness then you wouldn’t need to get punished by a personal trainer to prepare for the tour. I keep asking you to train with me.”

“You and I know that I have other motives if I exercise with you and eventually we are going to get arrested for public indecency. And I think you might drop dead from the impropriety of it all if that happens.” Ava pauses dramatically, and draws her hand across the air for effect, “‘Ava Silva and Beatrice Young. Caught with their pants down’ Or or! How about, ‘Ava Silva Topfff—’” Ava’s words die out with a muffled sputter as Beatrice leans across the table to slap a gentle palm over Ava’s mouth, silencing her. 

“Don’t finish the rest of that sentence. But also who said you would be?”

Ava’s eyebrows dance upwards in delight, right before Beatrice feels the soft, wet, and seductively slow drag of Ava’s tongue across the palm of her hand.

—

As Ava sits down onto their foot stool to tug on her running shoes, Beatrice kneels down next to her, already reaching out a helping hand to lace up the running shoes for her. Double knotting them, just in case. “Thank you.” Ava wiggles her toes about in her shoes, flexing her ankles up and down a few times before looking down at her with yet another contemplative look on her face.

Beatrice would ask again what’s going through Ava’s mind but each attempt this morning has been met with Ava skirting around the question and hurriedly changing the topic. 

She’s sure Ava will tell her in her own time. Maybe.

In the next instance, Ava’s scrambling up from the foot stool and pushing her down onto it, then sinking down on both knees next to her. She nudges a few pairs of shoes on the shelf to the side and emerges victorious with Beatrice’s Chucks in hand. 

After helping her put her shoes on, Ava bounces back onto her feet and reaches down a hand to haul her up. All while doing their routine, “Hoodies…check! Beanies…check! Beautiful novia…check!” They meet in the middle for a lingering peck, noses nuzzling against each other.

They clomp down the stairs, hand in hand, avoiding all the creaks. And when Ava pushes the front door open to the outside world, they’re met with a gust of swirling wind, carrying dry and brittle leaves—a mixture of yellow, red and browns—rustling through the air. The branches of the neighbourhood trees shake vigorously in the breeze, some already patchy and bare, others still carrying swathes of vivid green leaves.

Ava’s already turning back to her within a few steps, hands coming up to pull the coat tighter around her neck and fussing over the collar. “Bea, should we go back and get you a scarf? I don’t want you getting sick. You’ve gone straight from hot and humid to this.”

Beatrice drops a kiss onto Ava’s upturned face, catching her just in the sunken hollow between Ava’s eye and nose, gently easing her hands away from her neck. “Ava, my love. We haven’t even left the property yet. And I’m fine, I grew up here, remember? If there’s anyone we should be concerned about catching a cold, shouldn’t it be you?” 

Ava rolls her eyes, oh so charmingly. “Trust me, I’m never going to get used to this weather.” 

“Un día, vas a rotar los ojos tan fuerte que se te quedarán pegados así.” (One day, you’re going to roll your eyes so hard that they’ll get stuck that way.)

“Have you been speaking to abuela again!?”

—

After cheerfully depositing a gloomy Ava at the gym, a petulant pout on her face even as she turned and headed into the heaving, sweaty, bombastic environment of the gym and François’ clutches, Beatrice doesn’t turn towards home. 

No. She chooses to delay her nap, and enjoy the freedom to wander. The simple enjoyment of having no pressing schedule to rush off to. 

Glancing into her reflection in the shop window, she takes the opportunity to adjust the blue beanie on her head, pulling it down more snugly around her ears. Everyone is bustling around, busily going about their day. Paying no mind to Beatrice in her nondescript black woolen coat. 

The blustery wind funnels through the street causing Beatrice to dig her chin deeper into the collar of the coat, tucking her hands deeper into the pockets. Her fingers brush against a crumpled piece of paper. Several. She digs out the papers with the tips of her fingers. Peers down at them and fondly shakes her head. Ava. It’s a collection of receipts and a chocolate wrapper.  

The Autumn weather is bringing back memories. She can scarcely believe it’s been four years. 

Even then, it had been near impossible to fight the constant urge to be around Ava, the pull to see her. Oh, but she had tried to fight it. She can’t fight back the loud guffaw that falls out of her mouth at the thought. Shaking her head to herself. If anything, the want to be around Ava has only increased exponentially with time. Now, it’s a need, intrinsic to her soul. 

The man walking next to her startles at her loud laughter, visibly jumping away from the crazy lady. His quickening strides carry him away from her as fast as his legs will allow.

A shopfront displaying a collection of antique clocks, from brass table ones to carved wooden cuckoo clocks catches her attention. It’s been almost 90 minutes. Ava should be finishing up by now.

Ava’s cheeks are ruddy when she exits via the glass door, strands of hair haphazardly stuck on her forehead and beads of sweat still forming at her temples. It’s all ridiculously attractive. Her face instantly brightens as she spots Beatrice loitering underneath the street lamp, a beam overtaking her visage but no shout is forthcoming. Ava hustles towards her, walking quickly, but careful not to draw too much attention to themselves. She’s draping herself onto Beatrice as soon as she gets within touching distance. 

“Bea! I didn’t expect—why didn’t you go take a nap?” Ava’s eyes, the tiny fine lines at the corner of her eyes so evident up close—deepen and loosen as they move, tracking Beatrice’s face closely. Looking for every minute expressive detail on her face. 

Ava has always been like this. As attuned to her body language and facial expressions as one can be, looking for clues of what Beatrice might not or won’t express. 

She fights down the urge to shy away from the scrutiny, the vulnerability at being so seen, so known. 

It’s okay with Ava. She’s safe with Ava. In Ava’s hold. 

“I just wanted to walk around, take in the sights. The weather’s making me reminisce about how far we’ve come. I feel a little sentimental.” She draws up. “Don’t ever tell Lilith I said that, she’ll mock me for getting old. But it got me thinking about how different life is now.”

“For the better?” Ava whispers out, her gaze suddenly very intent and serious. Eyes dark. 

Okay. Strange. 

Beatrice thinks to ask but stops herself. Ava will tell her. Instead she nods in reply, “Yes, Ava. Of course, for the better.”

The seriousness in Ava disappears as swiftly as it came. “I’m hungry,” she declares.

“Want to get bánh mì? I—” Beatrice gets cut off by the truly indecent moan Ava lets out at the mention of bánh mì. 

Ava’s already towing her in the direction of their favourite Vietnamese bakery. “How could you mention that? Now we have to get it. But you’re going to have to explain to François how I just ate back all the calories I just burned.”

“François can, in the nicest of ways, go take a hike. You’re perfect just the way you are.”

“Beatrice! Language.”

—

Sitting crossed legged at the coffee table, they wolf down their bánh mìs. Both dropping flakes of the crispy crust everywhere. 

As Ava heads off to shower Beatrice grabs the vacuum, methodically and thoroughly passing it around the coffee table and back towards the kitchen through their bread crumb trail.

By the time that Ava exits the bathroom, Beatrice has laid down on their couch with her hands loosely clasped atop her tummy. She peeks her eyes open as Ava passes by, still running a towel through her wet locks. 

“I’m going to start the laundry, okay? Do I just wash all the clothes in your suitcase?”

“Mhmm. Yes, please,” Beatrice mutters sleepily.

As the pulsing sound of water being piped into the washing machine resonates across their flat she hears the soft padding of Ava re-entering the living room and walking towards her. She is cognisant that she’s teetering on the precipice of sleep, breaths evening out and deepening.

“—bed, Bea?” 

When she doesn’t respond, Ava tries again. 

There’s a dip in the cushion by her head and followed by an immediate warmth. Ava has sat down by her. “Bea?” This time, Ava waits for her indication that she’s listening. She grunts back in reply. “Why don’t you go sleep in bed?”

A whiney, “Nooo,” comes out of her mouth followed by, “Don’t wanna…I want to stay with you,” the words a slur with her tongue heavy from relaxation. 

She compounds her sulky statement by flinging out an arm towards Ava, shaking it about emphatically. She can practically hear the eyeroll before Ava’s hand descends upon the skin of her arm, lightly scratching up and down. 

Beatrice is jostled again from the verge of sleep when Ava shifts to get up from the couch. This time not bothering to bite back the loud growl of frustration that falls from her mouth. 

Ava’s tone is tinged with an irritating amount of amusement even as a cool hand comes down to smooth the hair back from her forehead as she says, “Just a second. I’m going to grab a book and blanket.” Then Ava’s back, propping Beatrice’s head up to slide underneath and shifting to adjust Beatrice’s head comfortably in her lap before draping the blanket over their bodies. 

Beatrice blindly reaches up and feels around, hand patting around until she meets her target, pulling Ava’s arm to rest across her chest, hand encircling Ava’s wrist. The last thing she vaguely remembers murmuring as she finally succumbs to sweet sweet slumber is a delirious, “Can I keep you?” 

Ava whispers a reply that she cannot comprehend.

When she wakes up, she wakes up from one of those sleeps that has only ever been possible with Ava around. There’s a thin wet trail down the corner of her mouth and the collar of her t-shirt is ever so slightly damp. Her head is still pillowed on Ava’s lap, the fragrance of their laundry powder and Ava’s own scent filling her senses. 

Beatrice brings a single hand up to rub at her eyes, clearing the last of the drowsiness and briefly brushing at the drool on her cheek and chin. 

Glancing upwards, she’s met by Ava’s gaze. An unfocused, intent gaze. Ava is deeply lost in thought, staring unblinkingly at her face. Ava’s book is discarded by the wayside, the spine cracked open and the dust jacket facing upward.

That’s it. 

Beatrice tenses her stomach muscles and crunches upwards, sitting up and swinging herself sideways to face Ava in one smooth move. The sudden movement has broken Ava out of her stupor, the startled reaction still flitting across her features by the time Beatrice arranges herself to face Ava. 

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?!” Beatrice exclaims, exasperated. Volume perhaps a little too loud for only just woken up and for how quiet the flat is with only the two of them around.

“I—” Ava starts only to be cut off by her.

“And don’t deflect.”

Ava’s eyes slide once again to a space behind her before they shift back to capture Beatrice’s gaze. She knows without looking that Ava’s hands have come together in her lap and that Ava is worrying at the skin by her right thumb. She reaches out a hand to grab at Ava’s hand, stilling it from its nervous movements.

“Are you—” Ava’s voice comes out reedy and thin. She stops, an agitated flush highlighting her cheeks before she clears her throat and tries again. “Beatrice. Are you happy? With me? Or…or just in general. You’d tell me right? If there was anything more that I should be doing? If you weren’t…happy…”, Ava’s voice trails off by the end, quiet and uncertain.

“I’m happy, Ava. Of course I am happy. I’m so ridiculously happy that I couldn’t wait to come back home to you. What’s—is something wrong? Why are you worrying like this? Is there anything more I should be doing?”

Ava’s hand shifts in her grip to fiddle with her bracelet, gently tapping at the jade flower charm and running her finger along the metal. Stalling. “No, Bea. You’re perfect. There’s nothing else you can possibly do. It’s just…everything’s going so well. And I am so—this is beyond my wildest dreams. Getting to be with you. Like this. And I’m just conscious that…” Ava pauses to breathe in deeply, seemingly as if she’s buoying herself to get whatever is on her mind out, “That this might not be what you thought it would be, what you’d hoped for. I wonder sometimes whether what I am offering you, this life, is enough. If it’s what you want. I don’t know. Maybe it’s too soon for you to…but I just wanted to check in and in case…ignore me, I think maybe I’m overthinking a little bit.” Ava laughs but it seems hollow. 

“Ava.” Beatrice stops, eyes searching Ava’s. “I don’t know what’s causing you to worry, or…or maybe I do know why, but I don’t want you to dwell on that.” Beatrice pauses to give a quick pulse to the hand still clasped within her own. “I’m happy. I’m beyond happy. I want this, our life now with every fiber of my being. And I don’t know what words to offer you, to tell you, other than…than…te amo, Ava. You are— you feel like…cuando estoy contigo, siento como que finalmente he regresado a casa.” (When I'm with you, I feel like I've finally come home.)

—

Ava feels Beatrice shift again next to her, a sad little huff coming out of her mouth as she turns onto her side, legs restlessly moving beneath the bedspread.

“Still can’t sleep?” Ava whispers as she instinctively reaches out a hand to rest between Beatrice’s shoulder blades, hoping to soothe her restlessness. 

Before she makes contact with Beatrice’s clothed back, Beatrice is turning towards her in a flurry, an apologetic look on her face. “I’m so sorry. Did I wake you?”

Ava shakes her head against the pillow. “Amor, what’s wrong? Are you just not sleepy?”

“I just can’t get comfortable and the jetlag is messing with me.” Beatrice rearranges herself again, coming closer to share Ava’s pillow, so close that their noses brush against each other. 

They lie comfortably facing one another, for long drawn out minutes, in complete content silence.

When it doesn’t seem like Beatrice is likely to fall asleep, Ava opens her mouth to voice the question that’s been running through her head as she had laid there beside her, wide awake. Listening to Beatrice rustle back and forth. 

The mere act of parting her lips snaps Beatrice’s attention to her, eyes locking onto her own. “Want to go for a walk?”

Before she’s finished her question, Beatrice is already nodding eagerly, her crescent eyes making an appearance. “Always, with you.”

“St Dunstan?”

They scramble to get up, throwing aside the bedspread and bounding out of bed towards the closet. They dress quickly in a fit of giggles. Throwing on hoodies over their t-shirts and tugging on sweatpants. There’s some kind of magic in the air. An illicitness to the activity, even as adults, to feel like you are sneaking out of the house at 2am.

The open shutters bathe the living room in moonlight as they open the bedroom door and step out into the short hallway. The moon illuminates everything in its path, from the baby grand piano, to their couch, to the vinyls on the shelves. 

Beatrice tows Ava hand in hand through the living room and towards the front door. The two of them continue to giggle as every floorboard is set off beneath their lively footsteps.

As they quickly crouch down to pull on sneakers, Beatrice finally draws up at the sight of the socks that Ava is slipping on. A concerned look crosses her face before she quickly stands, already turning back towards their bedroom and tossing out a simple explanation over her shoulder, “I’m going to get you thicker socks.”

Ava watches her go, Beatrice’s back disappearing into the hallway and turning right into their room.

Her eyes rove and land on the shelves full of vinyls.

Thump. 

Thump. 

Thump. 

Her heartbeat thunders louder and louder in her ears.

Before she’s even aware of it, she’s shot upwards and over to the vinyls. She doesn’t need to look for the placement of the vinyl, having memorised its spot long ago. Ava sneaks a furtive look over her shoulder, ears hyperfocused for the sound of Beatrice’s footsteps. Her clammy hands shake even as she grabs at the vinyl and its plastic covering. Her palm leaves a slightly moist imprint on the plastic as she eases it out of the way, wiggling her other hand into the cavity of the shelf behind it, parting the other records and scooping the walnut brown box into her palm. She quickly pushes Post back into place and tiptoes back to the front door. 

Ava’s just managed to slip the ring box into her sweatpant pocket before Beatrice reappears in the hallway. She’s suddenly hyperaware of the ring on her person. Hoping against hope that it’s not obvious to Beatrice that it’s hidden beneath the material of her jacket.

So focused is Ava that she forgets to thank Beatrice as she hands her her pair of thick woolen, pumpkin coloured socks. 

It feels like everything’s happening in a vacuum. 

The world doesn’t exist outside of the two of them, here and now. Every swallow of her throat sounds through her ears like a clap of thunder. She fights to keep the cadence of her breaths to a regular pace so that she doesn’t catch Beatrice’s attention. The next thing she knows, they’ve made it down the stairs and Beatrice is turning to lock the door behind them. 

“Ava? It’s too late to take the train now. We’ll have to get to the main road and grab a taxi, is that okay?” Beatrice’s voice sounds garbled, almost as if she’s speaking underwater.

She doesn’t answer. Focusing instead on the heaviness of the box in her pocket. She looks up. Beatrice is so pretty. Backlit by the moon, large and luminous above them. 

“Ava?” Beatrice is speaking again, moving closer now. “Ava?” Her eyebrows are furrowed. So beautiful. “Are you okay? Do you not feel well? We don’t have to go…” her voice trails off as Ava enthusiastically shakes her head. 

“I’m fine. I want to go,” her disembodied voice says. She breathes a sigh of relief. She sounds normal. Though, Beatrice doesn’t seem convinced, even as she comes closer and slips a hand into hers. A startled laugh yelps its way out of her mouth. Oops. Beatrice is on the side with the ring. In her panic, she yanks her hand forcefully away from Beatrice’s, dancing forward.

Act normal, act normal, act normal.

She extends her other hand for Beatrice to take. Strange. Their grasp is unnaturally moist. It must just be her. Hopefully Beatrice doesn’t notice and ask about it. She surreptitiously slips her hand out again to wipe it against her jacket before easing it back into Beatrice’s hand, intertwining their fingers.

They walk through the streets, side by side, in complete silence, accompanied only by the rustling of the breeze through the leaves and the echoes of their footsteps. There’s no one else walking around in this quiet pocket of London. They’re alone with their thoughts and their breaths. 

The only two in the world right now. 

Ava turns her head to catch the elegant side profile of Beatrice, the moon and streetlight casting her with an ethereal glow. 

The love of her life.

Do you want to marry me?

Beatrice turns to look at her, catching her gaze and a wide smile splits her face, her dimple making itself apparent.

All Ava can hear is a rushing in her ears.

She looks at her feet, carrying her across the pavement. Its unevenness, raised by the root systems of the nearby trees, makes it difficult to manoeuvre, but Beatrice’s hand is sure in hers. Never letting her waver. Never letting her trip.

Her eyes catch on a familiar curb.

Suddenly, she’s down on her knee. 

Oh God. Oh God! OH GOD!

Still clutching tightly to Beatrice’s left hand.

Beatrice turns around to see what’s caused her to stop, her mouth falling open in surprise when she looks at where Ava should be and then the trajectory of her gaze falls downward.

The tears are welling up in the corners of Ava’s eyes and she can feel the emotion threatening to spill out of her, even as she hurriedly pats at her pocket with her left hand, tugging to free the walnut brown box from its confines. She fumbles with the lid one handed, hurriedly propping it open to display the ring to Beatrice.

“Ava…”

“Beatrice,” she croaks out, her voice already wavering. Quickly taking a moment to steady herself, she continues, looking up at Beatrice, “I’ve had this ring for a while now and lately, it’s been harder and harder to remind myself of all the reasons why I should wait. And I know—I know that it might be too soon, that we’ve only been together again for seven months so please know that…that I don’t mean to pressure you. Your answer can be ‘not yet’. Or it can be a ‘no’.” 

At that, a wet laugh falls out of her throat. 

Beatrice opens her mouth to speak but quickly shuts it again as the rest of the words tumble out of her, “But I really hope it’s not a ‘no’ because you’ve shown me a life that I never knew could be for me and now I can’t fathom going through it without you beside me. I have wished for you with every grape since the year we met.” One last breath, “I want to be able to spend the rest of my life telling you, showing you, every day that I love you. If you’ll have me. So please, Beatrice Young, will you marry me?” She gulps now and waits, the ring box trembling in her palm and still holding on tightly to Beatrice’s left hand. 

Beatrice’s eyes are shimmering, tears brimming at the corners, the moonlight above reflecting off the gleam her eyes are creating.

Beatrice smiles, sinking into a crouch opposite Ava. 

Ava holds her breath as Beatrice leans forward, navigating past the open box and ring, pressing a lingering kiss against her cheek. Beatrice stays there for a long few seconds, the blinking of her wet eyelashes tickling against Ava’s skin. Meanwhile, her heart is thundering away in her chest. She dares not make a sound.

The night is still around them.

Beatrice’s voice is measured and calm as she says, “Yes, Ava.”

A joyful gasp bubbles into the air between them. 

Easing back onto her heels, Ava finally lets go of her tight grasp of Beatrice’s hand and shifts far enough back to pluck the engagement ring out of its cushiony housing, the lid snapping shut with a crisp sound. 

Beatrice eagerly shoves her left hand at her, the both of them giggling at the action. 

Ava re-takes Beatrice’s left hand—her hand still a little shaky—and leans forward to reverently kiss the ring finger before she, oh so gently, slips the ring up, fitting it snugly into its rightful place.

They rush each other then, their bodies colliding into an all consuming hug on that curb. Kneeling before the other with a promise of forever. Their chests heave against the other with barely contained emotion, all while quiet and joyful tears leak out of their eyes as they bury their faces against the others’ neck and breathe each other in. 

Finally, Ava pulls back to survey Beatrice’s face and Beatrice’s left hand with its new adornment. Gleaming in the moonlight. 

Her hand comes up to cup Beatrice’s cheek, the pad of her thumb rubbing at the wet trail of tears. Beatrice’s answering smile is as wide as her own. Both unable to stop their grins even as Beatrice reaches out to pull Ava’s face closer and their lips finally meet in a kiss. The kiss is more teeth than it is a kiss. Nevertheless, they do their best, mouths coming together again and again on that London sidewalk with the moon as their witness.

“I love you,” they both say, voices overlapping.

Ava feels like she’s visibly buzzing out of her skin, here in the back of a taxi, pressed tightly against her fiancée. They must look crazed, smiling nonstop at each other, at Beatrice’s hand, at everything. 

The taxi driver had clearly been reluctant when they had flagged him down and tumbled into the backseat, loudly asking to be taken to St Dunstan, at an energy level wholly inappropriate for London at 3am. He had gruffly informed them that St Dunstan was closed at this time of the night and then shrugged when they had insisted, immediately setting off into the quiet roads. 

He’s been deliberately avoiding any eye contact with them ever since.

Beatrice had been oddly adamant that she still wanted to head to St Dunstan when they had finally collected themselves off the sidewalk and who was she to deny her fiancée?

Fiancée. 

She wants to scream it from the rooftops. She still might. Throw a parade to celebrate that Beatrice Young, amazing, talented, kind, perfect Beatrice Young is going to marry her.

Ava clutches Beatrice’s hand all the tighter, leans into her and whispers, “I still can’t believe it.”

Beatrice’s smile is toothy as they both tilt their heads downward to stare at the intricately cut diamond, set in the silver band, resting on Beatrice’s ring finger. Beatrice’s right hand comes over to play with the ring, shifting it about ever so slightly. “Neither can I.”

As they continue to stare down at the ring, she feels Beatrice still for a second, her shoulders straightening ever so slightly. “Ava…you said you’ve had this ring for a while. In February, that day when you came to the flat, did you—was the ring in your pocket? You kept fiddling with something and I’ve just…was it the ring?”

“Yes.” She nods, turning and leaning her head into Beatrice’s upper arm. “I’ve known that I’ve wanted to marry you for a long time, Beatrice. It was with me that day to lend me strength and give me hope.”

Beatrice nods solemnly. She swallows hard, an audible quiver to her voice when she says, “Thank you for not giving up on us.” 

When the taxi driver gets near St Dunstan, he pulls over at the corner of Great Tower St and Idol Lane and firmly asks them to get out and walk the rest of the way. Before he departs however, he looks sternly at them from beneath his bushy eyebrows, so reminiscent of Levy’s in another 30 years, and his lips hardset beneath a greying walrus moustache. “I’ll not be party to whatever illegal activities you have planned, you hear? If there are any questions, I don't know what you are up to.” 

The tires squeal as he rushes off. 

Even at this time of the day, within such proximity to London Bridge, the area is not entirely devoid of activity. They can hear raucous shouting in the distance so the two of them quickly slip down undetected into the dimly lit and silent Idol Lane, and head towards their destination. 

Beatrice seems oddly jittery as they stroll hand in hand, her eyes darting around everywhere, ears reacting to every noise.

Like before, the wrought iron gates are shut. Secured by a loose chain and padlock. They work as a team, creating enough of a gap for one to slip through after the other. 

As it always does, St Dunstan weaves its magic—the act of passage through the metal gates transporting them away to another world. A world just for the two of them.

Together, they creep along the ruins. The moon is lower in the sky now and its light is partially blocked by the nearby buildings, barely lighting their path and that of the structure and flora around them. The brittle, fallen leaves rustle and crunch underfoot. English ivy continues to grow along the walls, having long ago taken root within its crumbling structure and becoming part of the ruin. 

Beatrice halts their forward momentum when the boundary wall comes into sight. As Beatrice turns towards Ava she’s also reaching a hand into the inner pocket of her coat by her chest. Ava can’t quite make it out but she’s got something enclosed in her hand as she pulls it out. 

In the next moment Ava’s shocked gasp echoes throughout the quiet courtyard as Beatrice sinks down onto her knee, extending a glittering ring pinched between her thumb and index finger towards her. 

Everything else, every other detail recedes. There is only Beatrice, kneeling in front of her.

“Ava Silva. To me, you have always been inevitable. From the moment we met, I have gravitated towards you. You have turned my life upside down and I have been grateful for every second of it as long as I get to do it with you beside me. I once told you that my soul recognises you, and I deeply believe that. That we are meant to be. In this life and always.” Ava holds her breath as Beatrice pauses. Every atom of her being yearning to throw itself forward onto Beatrice. “Will you marry me, Ava?”

She barely manages to avoid cutting Beatrice off, so eager is she to reply.

Beatrice has had a ring. Beatrice has wanted to propose too. 

Ava’s loud whoop of a “Yes” is muffled by the sound of a shocked yelp as she tackles Beatrice backwards onto the ground.

—

They haven’t slept. Not really.

Ava’s doing a very bad job at pretending to sleep. Her breathing is choppy and out of sync. With the odd little shake of a foot every so often. And Beatrice will admit that she’s not doing a good job at hiding it either. But they’re both playing along with the charade anyway.

The new sensation on her left hand is sending all sorts of little sparks through her. 

Happy and unexpected sparks. 

Ava’s breathing shifts as Beatrice runs her thumb up and down Ava’s bare tummy, skin erupting into goosebumps right away. 

“You’re awake?” Ava’s voice comes out smooth, no indication of lingering sleep whatsoever.

Beatrice nods against the chest under her.

Ava shifts, dragging a hand down to lift Beatrice’s hand from her stomach. She brushes her lips against the knuckles before pulling upwards, smoothly getting them on the same eye level. 

“Good morning,” Beatrice greets contentedly, smushing her cheek into the pillow, incapable of keeping Ava’s eye contact without having to look away with a flush.

Ava chuckles lightly, face nuzzling close, nose languidly running along Beatrice’s cheek. “Why so shy?” she whispers into Beatrice’s ear.

“I’m not.”

“You are. You so are.”

“Nope.”

Ava huffs, pulling their bodies closer. Wrapping her in a vice grip, legs and arms encircling every part of her as Ava drops smooches all along her face and neck until they’re both giggling and out of breath.

The birds outside are chirping lightly, the rustle of the wind carrying their tune through the open window and into the room. 

“Is this how you’ll be on our wedding day? All shy and cute?” Ava twists the ring on Beatrice’s finger, “I’d want that.”

“We should get married today, then.”

“Oh?” There’s a playful inflection in Ava’s voice. “Is that what you want?” Teasing her.

Beatrice doesn’t consider her answer at all. And it should scare her. After all, it would have scared her in the past. 

“Yes.” It bursts through, forthright and direct.  

Ava stops twisting the ring. Going absolutely still beside her. There’s several seconds where no sound is heard from either of them. Not even their breathing. 

Ava sits up abruptly, face going from confusion to complete elation within seconds. “Wait—Beatrice, what do you mean?”

She’s up now too. Legs crossed underneath her. Ava’s eyes are roaming every part of her, trying to come to terms with the word that just came out of her mouth and how it translates into her body language. What she meant. Whether she meant it. 

“Let’s get married,” Beatrice clarifies, left hand just above Ava’s on the bed, both of their engagement rings clinking together, “If you want that too, of course.”

Ava shifts again, bringing her knees underneath her. An excited little dance just waiting to burst through. “Are you serious?”

“I am. Why wouldn’t I be serio—you—I want to marry you, Ava. Whether it’s today, months or even years from now. Nothing will change that.”

“Beatrice.”

“Ava.”

(*)(*)

Let the bough break, let it come down crashin'

Let the sun fade out to a dark sky

They’ve thrown on shirts. 

Beatrice doesn’t know why she bothers, but she fluffs the blankets, karate chops the pillows—does everything in her power to not make it seem like they just woke up naked in bed. Ava merely watches on amused, as if the two of them knowing each other biblically isn’t old news to Emilia and Vivian. 

Ava is holding her phone in her hands, thumb just above Emilia’s contact. She solemnly declares, “I think this is it. This might be the day Emilia finally kills me.” 

Beatrice leans back against the wall, careful not to jostle their beloved painting. Not Ava, who pulls it up and off its hook before throwing it onto the opposite side of the bed without any fanfare. She’s then pulling Beatrice’s arm aside, snuggling close beside her. “Just call her. I don’t think she would want it any other way.”

Ava worries her lip, eyes shifting from between Emilia and Vivian’s contact. She taps Emilia’s name and holds the phone in front of them.

Crap. Her shirt is inside out. Maybe Emilia won't notice.

“Ava, son como las ocho de la mañana. ¿Qué quieres, niña desagradecida?” (Ava, it's like eight am. What do you want, you ungrateful child?) Emilia’s voice comes through hoarse, the phone screen showing a dark wooden beamed ceiling with the barest hint of light.

“Nos vamos a casar.” (We’re getting married.) Ava drops casually, and Beatrice slaps her a hand to her forehead. Of all the ways…Ava draws her head back in disbelief at her reaction. A soothing thumb coming up to rub at the spot right away.

Complete silence, and then, “Bueno, ahora sí que lo has hecho.” (Well, now you’ve definitely done it.) There’s a sudden flurry of movement as sheets are thrown off and window curtains are pulled aside forcefully, the sun coming through and illuminating the ceiling right away. “¿Qué me dices? No te puedo creer ¿Y a ti no te importa mi salud? ¡Ya no puedo seguir viviendo así!” (What are you saying? I can’t believe you. Do you not care about my wellbeing? I can’t live like this anymore!) Emilia grabs the phone, agitation clear. Dried beauty mask half peeling off her face. “¿Cómo que se van a casar? ¿Dónde está Beatrice? ¿Ella lo sabe? ¡Dejame hablar con ella!” (What do you mean you’re getting married? Where’s Beatrice? Does she know? Let me talk to her!)

“I’m here! I’m here,” she rushes to reply, leaning into the video frame. Don’t think about the shirt. Don’t think about the shirt!

Emilia stops, pulls her mask off in one go and brings the phone close to her face. Doing the old person eye adjustment thing and probably making sure that it is in fact Beatrice there and they’re both mentally sound. “When did you even get engaged? Are you both crazy?!” Nevermind. 

“Last night!” “This morning!”, they both scramble to reply to Emilia’s question. “Last night!” “This morning!”, answers overlapping again. Both drawing back to narrow their eyes at the other. 

Ava pokes her tongue out at her which makes Beatrice raise her eyebrows incredulously. 

Turning back to look at the phone screen, Ava declares, “You have until noon to get here or we’ll get married without you.”

Emilia sighs roughly, but there’s fondness there. “Espera a que te ponga las manos encima, Ava Silva. Vas a tener las nalgas rojas hasta el día que te mueras.” (Wait until I get my hands on you, Ava Silva. You’re going to have red buttcheeks until the day you die.)

Ava ends the call abruptly without another word. “Do you think she’ll make it?”

Beatrice nods solemnly. Emilia will definitely make it. “Prepare your buttcheeks, I guess.”

Ava winks. “Only for you,” Ava says in complete merriment, then shrugs, declaring, “Your turn,” dropping the phone onto Beatrice’s palm. 

When she hesitates, Ava leans in for a quick cheek kiss. “You can do it, my love. And then we can both have red buttcheeks until the day we die.”

Beatrice breathes in. Swallows and taps Vivian’s number. Phone call only. She’ll notice the shirt. No video call. Quick. Easy. Cry later.

It rings only once. Vivian’s smooth and proper voice coming through the phone’s speaker. “Hello, Ava. Good morning,” she says, and it is immediately clear to both Beatrice and Ava that Vivian has been up for quite some time already, “I tried your Arroz al horno recipe last night and it was divine, I’m going to have to include it into the rotation.”

Ava smiles shyly, nudging her side. Encouraging. “Mum,” Beatrice breathes in deeply and on the exhale says, all in one quick breath, “We’re going to get married today.” Now it’s Ava’s turn to slap her own forehead.

Vivian, like Emilia, is quiet for some time. But unlike Emilia, Vivian's reply is composed and to the point. “Text me the details. I’ll bring the flowers.”

I can't say I'd even notice it was absent

'Cause I could live by the light in your eyes

Camila finally calls back as they’re having breakfast. A well done egg—too busy making out against the kitchen counter to notice the eggs sizzling away— atop an almost singed sourdough slice—did you toast the bread? I DON’T REMEMBER!—as Beatrice scrabbles to juggle the video call amid Ava’s encroaching form and grabby hands. “Cam—Camila! I need to tell—”

“Beatrice! I knew you’d miss me—”

“We’re getting married!” Ava squeaks out, ripping the phone from her grip and nearly smashing her face into it from the force and pure joy emanating from her. Almost chipping a tooth. The toast she’s holding lands on the side of the plate, feta and avocado barely hanging on.

“WHAT?!” Camila howls and from the screen they can see several faces beside Camila turn in concern towards her.

“Where are you?” Beatrice asks, tugging Ava back down onto her lap so that she can continue to see Camila’s face on the phone as well. 

“At the airport! About to make my connection. Don’t change the fucking subject! What do you mean you’re getting married? Beatrice, you leave in a rush and now you’re saying you’re going to get married? Why am I just finding out now? How could you both do this to me!? After all these years, Pigeon ankles!? And what? You decide to do this now when—”

“We just decided, Cam.” Ava takes the reins, the sole calming force for moments when Camila begins to spiral. “You’re only the third person we’ve told!”

The phone shakes in Camila’s grip and they both turn to each other in a fit of giggles. “THE THIRD!?” She cries out, “Who were the first two!?”

“Mum and Emilia.”

“Oh.” Camila settles, “Well, that’s fine, I guess. I’ll allow it.”

Ava snickers. “Of course, of course.”

“We’re going down to the registry office later,” Beatrice says carefully, taking a sip from her coffee cup now that everything appears calm.

Camila shoots up from where she’s sitting. “No—no! I’m jumping on the next flight to London.”

Beatrice sputters out the coffee and Ava nearly flies out of her lap. “Camila! Go home to your family!”

“I’m a celebrant!”

“What!?” They both shout in unison.

“I’ve been manifesting this! All that work and sneaking around! They all doubted me. Lilith owes me so much money.” Camila is no longer within camera view, it’s just a blur of the passing airport gates at what one would call an insane and dangerous speed. “I knew it would be worth it!” she says, out of breath, “Pick a place. You guys just pick a place and I’ll meet you there!” And then she ends the call.

Ava stands abruptly from her lap and spins around to face her. She then begins to shimmy in place, “You think I’m gorgeous…”

Beatrice huffs and stands just as quickly, advancing in big steps as Ava hurriedly backs away towards the living room.

“You wanna date me…love me and marry me—ARGHH!”

I'll unfold before you

Would have strung together

The very first words of a lifelong love letter

“Amor, what about these?” Ava calls her over nervously, hand just above the glass separating the various wedding bands from them.

It’s quiet and empty inside the boutique they’ve found themselves in. Well, empty, apart from the clerk who is observing them carefully.

Ava’s arm drapes around her waist the moment they’re next to each other. “Which?” Beatrice asks, eyes gazing upon the few pieces below.

“The ones with the flower motif.”

The silver bands are delicate and simple. 

Ava doesn’t wait for a reply. “Can we see these, please?” She holds a finger just above them, indicating the bands.

“Of course.” The clerk obliges, pulling out a velvet tray and setting it before them, then, bringing the bands from below and placing one next to the other.

“Try it on?” Ava holds out one of them, it glints under the lights, and carefully places it on Beatrice’s open palm. “What do you think?” She whispers the moment the band slips on. Her eyes attentively travelling from the finger, which is now bearing two rings, to Beatrice’s eyes.

The metal feels cool against Beatrice’s increasingly warming skin. She finds herself turning her head from side to side, rotating her hand, taking in the small details. The way the two pieces catch the light. And then, her eyes find Ava’s. 

Patient. Softly looking. A small, hesitant smile on her lips.

“It’s perfect,” she murmurs her reply by Ava’s ear, quiet enough for only her to hear. Hands aching with the need to reach out and hold her.

Ava doesn’t hesitate, holding the other band between her fingers. She quickly tries the band on as well, flexing her left hand a few times. “Perfect.” Beatrice’s eyes linger on Ava’s left hand—perfect—as she pulls the band off and passes it off to the clerk. Beatrice’s breaths are coming in short, chest barely expanding under the overwhelming happiness from the sight alone. “Something wrong?” Ava asks cautiously. Worried.

“Hmm? No,” she replies, passing her own band to the clerk as well.

“Would you like me to wrap them?” 

Ava is quick to answer, “A box should be fine.” The clerk walks off, leaving them alone. Ava tilts her head, voice quiet, “If something is wrong we can stop now, I don’t want—”

“I don’t want to stop,” Beatrice blurts out, an unrestrained smile breaking free, at last. Their fingertips gently brushing on top of the counter. “I don’t ever want to stop.”

Ava beams. “Neither do I.”

Tell the world that we finally got it all right

I choose you

I will become yours and you will become mine

I choose you

I choose you

“It’s stuck!” Ava says from the inside of the dressing room.

Beatrice lifts her hand, ready to tug the curtain open to help. “Can I come in?”

“No! You can’t—you know you can’t see me!”

She chuckles. “My love, I’m going to see you regardless.”

“I know. I just want you to see me when it’s perfect—not—not like this. Not with half my butt poking out.”

Beatrice brings a hand to her nose and mouth, holding in what is sure to be an undignified snort. “I’m coming in. Close your eyes.”

“Bea, no, can you please get—”, Ava flutters about for a few seconds, the noise of several hangers falling down loud enough to attract attention. When the curtains are drawn behind Beatrice, a stool scrapes across the wooden floor and Ava sputters out a nervous, “Hi.”

“My eyes are closed. Where are you?” Beatrice asks, hands pinching and searching the air, coming up empty.

“He—here” Ava says, voice raspy. Her hands grip Beatrice’s own, guiding her forward. “I’m going to turn around, see if you can unjam it.” Ava places Beatrice’s hands on each side of her hips, turning carefully in place.

Ava’s breaths are ragged, like she’s having trouble with her dress. “Is it too tight?” Beatrice asks, feeling Ava underneath her fingertips, the contours of her hips and the material of the dress. Woven, almost like crochet. “Ava, I think we’ve picked the same dress.”

“It’s similar. Yours has more of a mandala-like pattern.”

“YOU’RE LOOKING?!” The nerve. “Here you are asking me not to look, yet you’re looking!”

Ava stomps, actually stomps. “Fix the zipper!”

“I’m trying!” She tugs. “It won’t give!”

“Last time this happened—”

“Do not! Don’t you dare bring that up!” The teeths of the zipper eventually line up, interlocking as Beatrice pulls up, ending somewhere by Ava’s upper back. “There!” 

Ava rustles about for some time. Adjusting the dress, Beatrice assumes.

“Okay, you can open your eyes now.”

Beatrice does. And all at once she understands why Ava’s breathing was ragged, why Ava’s voice sounded the way it did when she stepped into the dressing room. As her eyes settle on Ava, every thought other than beautiful instantly escapes her brain. 

The ivory of the dress makes Ava glow. On her, the dress is ethereal and timeless. Effortlessly graceful when combined with the soft curls of her low bun. It accentuates Ava’s figure in a romantic way and drives everything inside Beatrice to reach out for Ava’s hand. To clasp it tightly. “You look beautiful,” she barely manages to croak out, throat bobbing uselessly.

“Thank you,” Ava replies, not giving much attention to Beatrice’s compliment. Eyes equally as focused on Beatrice in her dress, as much as Beatrice’s own attention is caught on Ava in hers. “I can’t stop looking. I haven’t stopped looking since you walked in,” she says, her free hand coming to touch at the hand-woven scalloped edges draping loosely over Beatrice’s shoulder. 

“Come here.” Beatrice tugs on their joined hands, pulling Ava close. Arms wrapping around each other. As close as they can manage. Burrowing delicately into the crook of Ava’s neck, breathing her in and grazing gently with her lips.  

“How…how did I get so lucky? This is just…I never—” Ava clears her throat, “I’m going to marry you so hard!”

—

There was a time when I would have believed them

If they told me you could not come true

Just love's illusion

But then you found me and everything changed

And I believe in something again

They had tried valiantly to hail a taxi and failed. Rushing to the train instead.

Now they’re in one of the corners of the train carriage, Ava against the wall with Beatrice in front holding them steady. The sight of Beatrice’s Chucks surrounding her Vans is making her reminisce about four years ago. Where just glancing at Beatrice then had set off every nerve ending within her. A want—no, a need. A need to know everything about the woman in front of her. Even now, as Ava follows the familiar path of Beatrice’s collar, the freckle on her neck, upwards to her face, the same thought echoes.

Beatrice is doing her best to shield them both from view, but it’s not working. Everyone is staring at them. A phone gets lifted again and surprisingly the flash doesn’t go off. Ava watches as Beatrice attempts to suppress an eyeroll. Choosing to roll her shoulders instead. 

Ava is sure their pictures are already all over social media. The dresses are at least hidden underneath their coats. For now.

“Amor,” Ava murmurs, pocketing her phone. Beatrice lowers her head down to listen, idly pulling at the straps of the satchel carrying their clothing. “Vivian and Emilia are there.”

“Already?”

She nods. “And Camila is in a taxi.” 

Beatrice doesn’t react further, just settles her head onto Ava’s shoulder. Wrapping her arms around tighter. “You’re so pretty.” Beatrice must feel the way she breathes in because she adds in a quick, “Don’t tease me,” beating her to the playful taunt.

“I wouldn't dare.”

“Liar.”

As they exit the Underground on their way out to Fenchurch street, tapping their phones against the receiver, a little girl stops Ava in her tracks. She’s smiling widely, arms flailing about to get her attention. “Bea, one second,” she says, tugging on their clasped hands, coming to the girl’s side.

“Eres Ava?” (You’re Ava?) The little girl asks, pulling on her mum’s arm.

The mother sighs apologetically. “I’m so sorry, I asked her not to bother you. I’m sure you get that a lot.”

“It’s okay. I am,” Ava replies easily, lowering herself to the girl's eye level. “Hello. And what is your name?”

“Alice,” the girl answers, suddenly shy and half hiding behind her mother’s arm.

“Alice?” Ava chuckles. “My best friend, her name is Alice too.”

Alice smiles widely at that. “Really?”

“It is! She has an accent just like yours.”

“I love your songs. Mum and I sing them together.”

“That’s really lovely. Do you have a favourite?”

“Que no salga la luna!” Alice answers, wide eyed and bursting with excitement.

“It’s all she’s been listening to since your performance,” the mother adds, eyes shifting from Ava to Beatrice.

“Are you getting married?” Alice asks, eyeing Ava’s dress underneath her coat and then Beatrice’s, who gives her a small wave.

“We are,” Ava answers truthfully.

“Like the song?”

“Just like the song.” Ava stands upright, gripping Beatrice’s hand again. “You’ll keep it a secret won’t you?”

“I will.”

They wave goodbye to Alice and her mother. It’s a relatively warm Autumn’s day and people are milling about as they cut through Talbort court and follow the road down to St Dunstan. 

My whole heart

Will be yours forever

This is a beautiful start

To a lifelong love letter

The façade of the damaged church greets them as they near the public gardens. An instant relief from the bustling sounds and towering buildings of London. Burnt orange, pink, and yellow ivy hang from the ruin’s large arches. 

The hectic drums of life are muted here in this small corner. Everything seemingly fading away like it always does the moment they pass through the metal gates.

Their steps are synchronised as they traverse the sprawling gardens. The dappled late afternoon sun filtering through the canopy of Autumn leaves catch their eyes as they curve around the courtyard. 

After bypassing several groups of people, Vivian is the first of the two to spot them.  

Both her and Emilia are sitting on a garden bench, seemingly deep in conversation. Vivian smiles and waves, holding two modest bouquets of red carnations. “We were expecting to see the two of you here already,” Vivian says, standing and dusting off the bottom of her pants.

“We had a few things to get first,” Beatrice responds, giving her mother a hug first and then Emilia.

Ava does the same, with Emilia affectionately slapping her butt a few times. Then, Emilia clicks her tongue and says, “That sounds to me like this is short notice. Even for the two of you.”

Vivian nods along. Hesitating for a moment, but then voicing, “Are you sure that you don’t want to be able to call each other fiancées for a bit longer? It's been less than 24 hours.”

Beatrice shakes her head. “No, I’d rather call her my wife.”

My wife. Ava recites it over and over in her head. Where does she sign? Where are the papers? Where the heck is Camila? She reels herself back in as Beatrice bumps their shoulders together, hand searching for hers again. “I’m happy you’re here,” Ava says, awkwardly cutting off the throaty, elated laughter that is bubbling to spill out, then to Vivian, shyly, “That you’re both here. For us.”

“Come on then, let’s have a look at the two of you.”

They both remove their coats at Vivian’s request. Beatrice handing over her satchel to her mum and Emilia bounding forward to grab the coats, placing them under her arm. It’s the first instance of truly looking at one another outside the confines of the dressing room. And it’s here, under the filtered light streaming through the church’s gothic windowless frames, and in the shades of yellows, reds and orange, that the moment suddenly hits.

The world seems to fall silent and still under their gaze. No rustling of leaves. No chatter or the sounds of footsteps around them. Just the two of them and their thoughts. 

Being in the presence of Beatrice in her wedding dress leaves Ava breathless. It’s euphoric. It makes her dizzy with a genuine need to crush her into her hold but equally, to stay far enough away to bear witness. She’s unabashedly looking, taking in every curve, every softness. Beatrice smiles widely, chest heaving just as much as Ava’s is. They giggle at the same time. It’s nervous and with a slight tremor.

“Sneakers? Really?” Emilia says dryly, not at all enthused over their fashion faux pas, breaking them from their spell. 

“It could be worse. They could have turned up here in jeans and a hoodie,” Vivian says while smirking, amused by her own remark, while handing over their bouquets. 

Beatrice sighs heavily. “I feel like introducing them to each other was a terrible idea.” 

“I don’t know, I think we both need a little humbling every now and then.”

“Speak for yourself,” Beatrice smirks. So reminiscent of Vivian’s. It’s too distracting and charming to chastise her. “I don’t need humbling.” 

Emilia wags her finger. “Speaking of humbling,” she slaps lightly at Beatrice’s shoulder, discouraging her instantly, “This means Ava is your responsibility from now on. Sort out your emergency contacts, I plan on going on a long LONG vacation.” 

Tell the world that we finally got it all right

I choose you 

I will become yours and you will become mine

I choose you

I choose you 

“I told the taxi driver to step on it! But of course he’s all there like,” Camila is in the middle of recounting her journey to them, abruptly bursting into a low, sophisticated tone, “‘The rules of the road are meant to be followed—’ anyway, I got out of the car at Byward St and ran all the way here.”

Beatrice has Camila in a strange kind of hug/chokehold combination. Possibly for everyone’s safety. Mainly for Ava’s. “We never said we were in a rush, Camila.”

“¡BUENO, YO TENÍA PRISA!” (WELL, I WAS IN A RUSH!) Camila exclaims loudly, shoving at Beatrice’s sides with her fingers as they all walk along the ruins.

“When did you become a celebrant?” Ava asks, subtly peering over Camila’s shoulder at her unlocked phone. 

Camila is quick to pull it out of sight. “You don’t want to know the answer to that question.” She pivots, extricating Beatrice’s arms from her and handing her off to Ava. “Okay, where are we doing this? My notes are ready. My mind is ready. My body is ready.”

Beatrice stills as they near the boundary wall. “Here.” She passes her bouquet to Emilia and Ava does the same, handing hers to Vivian. 

Their hands move on their own, gravitating towards one another as they stand before Camila. Both trembling, both noticing it in the other but neither bringing attention to it.

Ava breathes in, and watches on as Beatrice does the same. 

Every sound nearby is now obscured by the ever increasing thrum in her ear.  

“Friends and Family of the brides—wait, that doesn’t work anymore,” Camila scrolls through her phone, making manic adjustments.  

Beatrice lifts her eyebrow, Camila’s shenanigans testing her incredible patience. “What do you mean that doesn’t work anymore?”

“I thought you guys would have a big wedding. I’ll have to make some edits as I go.” 

“Big wedding?!” “Edits?!” They both say at the same time. Vivian and Emilia howl with laughter behind them. Emilia lifting her arms when Ava’s glare lasts a tad longer than expected.

“One second…” Camila coughs a few times, zooms in on her phone, and prepares, “Welcome all present and thank you for being here to celebrate Ava and Beatrice, on their wedding day.”

Emilia and Vivian look at one another incredulously, utterly entertained by Camila.

“Oh God, Camila! Make it short and sweet, I beg of you,” Beatrice beseeches, rubbing at her forehead sheepishly, avoiding the prying eyes of the people around them. 

Suzanne is going to murder them.

We are not perfect

We'll learn from our mistakes

And as long as it takes

I will prove my love to you

“I’ve known you, Beatrice, most of my life, and admittedly I used to think that this day would never come, but now that it has I can safely say that I’m not surprised. You’re so strong willed—always have been, especially when you think you’re right. And you’ve always been right about Ava.” A flush creeps onto Beatrice’s cheeks, an effect that has been slowly blossoming before Ava’s eyes. Unfurling from Beatrice’s chest and expanding up her neck and cheeks—a vibrant reddish, pink backsplash to those beautiful freckles. “Love is difficult to define and I could never do it justice, so I’ve prepared a short poem that I hope will:

I love you without knowing how, when, or from where

I love you directly without qualms or pride

I love you like this because I don’t know any other way

Except in this form in which I am not nor are you”

As the truth of the poem lands, they both beam at each other and then together, at Camila.

“Alright, so, I hope you guys are as prepared as I am because now it’s your turn.” Camila pockets her phone, then looks between them enthusiastically. “Who would like to say their vows first?”

Ava swallows, readies herself. “Me—I’ll go first.” Beatrice is smiling at that. Shyly. Lips curving upwards and eyes beginning to crease.

“Beatrice.”

“Ava.”

They giggle. 

“From the moment we met and you carried me on your back, I knew you were different. A good different—a different I didn’t know I needed and at times I fought myself against it.” She swallows, the emotions beginning to catch up to her. Beatrice must catch it because she rubs a thumb across her hand in encouragement. “You constantly inspire me to be the very best I can be— for myself, for you and for others. I’m grateful that we made the choice to hold on to what we found, even when it seemed hopeless.” 

She’s taken aback by her bride in front of her, haloed by the late afternoon sun. Eyes unwavering from her own. “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life, growing with you, endlessly learning everything about you, and discovering the world alongside you.”

Beatrice releases her hand for a second, wiping the sides of her eyes where tears have begun to gather and spill out. Seeing Beatrice cry moves her forward as well, the momentum bringing Ava’s hands up to carefully wipe at the errant tears. They both laugh wetly, Ava’s eyes stinging from the intense wave of emotion surging from them. Beatrice fervently wipes at Ava’s cheeks and runs her thumb under Ava’s runny nose, pinching it affectionately. But it's a lost cause. The deluge has begun. 

They both attempt to gather themselves between crying and laughing. Ava can hear the  unmistakable sound of sniffles coming from behind them, and knows one of those sniffles belongs to Emilia. She knows that if she turns, the sniffle will become a sob. Such a sap. She can tease Emilia about it later. When she herself isn’t crying. 

Camila inhales sharply. Fanning her face and blinking tears away quickly. “Beatrice,” she directs. Trying to keep them somewhat on track.

Beatrice nods, wiping at the sides of her cheeks again. “I’ve—I’ve realised something silly recently. How time seemingly moves slower when I am around you, Ava. Unhurried. Like the universe knows to still when you’re near so that I can treasure every moment.” Beatrice exhales, thumbs running along Ava’s hands again. “I am glad our story turned out differently. Know that your dreams are my own, and whatever life we create together will be full of happiness and love.” Beatrice’s ears have turned red too. The flush from before, now all encompassing and devastatingly beautiful. “Now, can we please speed this up, I would really like it if our married lives could begin already.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Camila smacks at Beatrice’s arm, “But fine, and only because the gardeners are looking at us funny.” What Camila doesn’t say of course is that everyone around them is looking at them funny. And by funny she means actively staring with their phones in their hands. “Who has the rings?”

Beatrice turns to her mother, “In my satchel pocket.” Vivian unslings the bag from her shoulder and procures the small box for them before handing it to Camila.

“Beatrice, as you place this ring on Ava’s finger, please repeat after me…”

Beatrice nods, repeating Camila’s words back fully, without a moment of hesitation, “With this ring, I marry you and bind my life to yours,” she holds the wedding band between the fingers of her left hand and Ava’s left hand with her right, “As a reminder that I will love, honour, and cherish you. In all times, in all places, and in all ways, forever,” her voice doesn’t catch. It’s smooth and deliberate as she slides the ring carefully to meet the other on Ava’s finger. Beatrice pauses once she’s finished, admiring Ava’s hand in hers, brushing her thumb across Ava’s knuckles.

Ava’s hand is clammy as she plucks the remaining ring from the box in Camila’s hand. An intrusive thought of dropping it comes to mind then, and Beatrice must notice her apprehension because she snickers, knowing exactly what has crossed her mind. Beatrice’s gaze falls on her, soft eyes putting her at ease right away. “With this ring, I marry you and bind my life to yours,” she repeats the words as Beatrice did before and holds Beatrice’s left hand with her right. And where Beatrice is slow and meticulous, Ava is hurried and eager. The ring is already where it should be before the words have had a chance to finish, “As a reminder that I will love, honour, and cherish you. In all times, in all places, and in all ways, forever.”

“Beatrice, do you take Ava whom you now hold by the hand to be your wife?”

“I do.”

“Ava, do you take Beatrice whom you now hold by the hand to be your wife?”

“I do.”

Neither of their voices shake and their hands do not tremble. 

An instant sense of relief settles before them. 

Finally.

“You may seal this union with a kiss!”

It’s not slow. It’s anything but that. Ava springs forward and by the time she has a chance to wrap Beatrice into a kiss, Beatrice is already doing it. Lips ardently looking for hers. Wrapping her arms around Ava, as tight as she possibly can. They’re smiling into the kiss, and it spills onto their cheeks and eyes. The emotions reaching a crescendo. A tangible promise they can now both hold together. Always.

I am not scared of the elements

I am underprepared, but I am willing

And even better

I get to be the other half of you

“Hey! You can’t get married here!”

“Shit!” Camila squeaks. She’s pushing at them. Getting them to move. To separate. Anything!

And when that doesn’t work. It's Emilia and Vivian pulling them, handing their coats and satchel over. Getting them to realise what is happening. 

They grab their coats, haphazardly throwing them on as they all break into sprints in different directions and watch as everything descends into chaos around them. The crowd that had gathered erupts into cheers and claps. It’s complete pandemonium within seconds. 

Gardeners follow after Camila with several confused law enforcement officers closely behind. 

The last Ava is able to see and hear is Emilia kicking at a gardener that grabs at her and Vivian following close behind her with a smack of the carnations she’s holding.

“The cheek, the nerve, the gall, the audacity and the gumption,” Vivian adds cheekily after a few more smacks to the gardener’s head.  

Emilia subtly snaps with her fingers—a flourish of attitude—at Vivian in recognition.

Their hearts race, their breaths thunderous and echoing across the garden with every step they take. Everyone around steps aside for them to get through, the cheers and congratulations ringing in their ears. Their sneakers struggle against the old cobblestone underneath, all uneven and a complete hazard to the garments they’re wearing.

“Faster! Faster!” Ava cries between giggles, clutching her wife’s hand in hers.

“Where are we going?!” Beatrice yells back breathlessly, holding just as tightly.

“Anywhere, as long as you’re with me!”

“Careful, because I’m never letting you go.”

Tell the world that we finally got it all right

I choose you

I will become yours and you will become mine

I choose you 

I choose you 

I choose you 

—

February

The Cruciforms are all on stage impatiently waiting for all the nominees to be announced for Album of the Year. Beatrice is nervously thumbing at the envelope in her hands. Eyes drifting from Ava and where she’s currently sitting amongst the other attendees, to the vast audience that surrounds them. 

The gown Beatrice is wearing is richly adorned with oversized embroidered flowers. Vivid crimsons, pinks and whites, all standing out against the matte black fabric of her dress. Hair pulled back neatly to show off the elegance and poise of her shoulders. 

Confident in every way that matters to the outside world. But there’s something there. It’s small but it’s there, hidden underneath. A trepidation even though Ava has expressed more than once that she will be happy with whatever the outcome is tonight. But still Beatrice worries. Worries on her behalf. 

The soft hum of anticipation encompasses them all.

“As selected by the thirteen thousand voting members of The Recording Academy…” Beatrice says, leaning into the microphone and undoing the envelope to peek at the name written there. A beatific smile takes over her face as she glimpses at the winner’s name on the card. She steps back, handing off the envelope for Lilith to finish reading, taking the chance instead to break free from the band and come down the steps as Lilith continues from where she left off.

“The Grammy for Album of the Year goes to…” Lilith reads carefully, but they know. They all know. “Ava Silva for ‘La Fama’!” 

Ava shoots up from her seat, Shannon pulling her into a hug. There’s no one else around for her to smile at or be congratulated by, everyone important apart from Shannon is already on the stage in various states of celebration waiting for her. 

As she looks away from the cameras that have raced to her table, her eyes land on Beatrice waiting patiently by the bottom of steps, a hand outstretched for her to take. She bounds forward, overwhelmed by the compulsion to run to Beatrice. The black lace of her dress adjusting to the sudden change of movement, the floral embroidery resembling Beatrice’s own. 

Ava doesn’t take Beatrice’s hand right away, instead, she throws her arms around her wife, bringing her into a searing kiss.

Thunderous applause and cheers fill the air.

“I’m so—I’m so happy for you,” Beatrice whispers next to her ear when they pull apart. Ava’s hands have come down to just above Beatrice’s heart. It thrums within, rapid and unstoppable. Practically beating out of her chest. “I’m so proud.”

Ava’s pulling. Pulling Beatrice behind her. Bringing her back onto the stage. 

The band joins them above the steps, lovingly shoving her between them and into hugs. When she’s handed the award, she holds it firmly in the hand that’s not holding Beatrice’s. And when she’s before the microphone—with nerves shooting up to the roof—she takes a deep breath in and closes her eyes. 

When Ava opens her eyes again, she looks first at Beatrice beside her.

“Thank you to the Academy and my peers for this honour. I’d like to thank my wife…”

—

(*)(*)

Five years later

The faint sound of rain drops and water trickling echoes throughout the house. It’s a rainy day, much like the last few days have been. It brings with it a sense of stillness. A stillness which she craves now. The sensation seeps through the stained glass windows and travels across the cozy living room—lovingly adorned with well worn furniture pieces, picture frames and the odd brightly coloured toy.

There’s hardly any light now in her little corner which causes her to lean over to turn on the floor lamp nearby. The radiator pops a few times in quick succession and it catches her attention. Its warmth keeps her socked feet nice and warm as the temperature outside continues to drop and Winter begins to truly take over London. 

She is sitting at their upright piano, lazily trailing her fingers over the keys to a well known melody. 

An easy day at home.

Ava releases a breath. Rotating her torso from left to right, the blanket around her shoulders falling to her waist. She’s been sitting at the piano for too long. She stretches, pinching her eyes together, a soft pleased groan escaping her lips. 

When her eyes open again, Beatrice’s picture with her parents catches her attention. It’s one of her favourites, toddler Beatrice on her father’s shoulders with her mother running alongside them. She presses her fingers to her lips, suppressing a delighted chuckle.

There’s a manuscript against the fallboard. 

Empty. 

Has been empty for some time. 

Not because she hasn’t tried. She has. Has promised to. But she has been occupied.

She continues the melody, eyes fleeting from one photo to another. The wall above the piano is covered with them; family and friends, vacations, random objects that have caught their attention…and by no means is it full. There’s ample space for more photos, more memories.  

The distinct jingle of a key sliding into the lock and turning the bolt catches Ava’s ear. She lifts her left hand, melody continuing with her right, softly, just enough to be able to hear as the front door opens. The familiar grate just a start to the sounds now woven irreparably around her. Sounds that she cannot fathom a life without. 

Heavy steps of gum boots stomping onto the carpet by the door, then, softer ones. 

TAP-TAP, tap-tap. 

TAP-TAP-TAP, tap-tap-tap. 

And then a flurry of taptaptaps followed by precious giggles.

“We’re hoooooomeeee,” Beatrice sing-songs.

The step at the bottom of the stairs creaks a few times and Ava can picture exactly what is happening. Can clearly see Beatrice in her mind leaning down to help remove one outstretched boot then the other.

There’s only a few seconds before the pitter patter of feet slapping against the parquet flooring rounds the corner and little Pilar comes barrelling straight towards her. “Mamá! Que fwío!” (It’s so cold!)

Ava chortles at the sight of her daughter’s face and her chubby cheeks. Icing sugar and chocolate smudged all over her cheeks, nose and mouth. “What have you got on your face, mi pétalito (my little petal)?”

Pilar gives her a wide grin in response, “Mummy gots some migawetos. We aweady ate wun. Shhh. She said to keep secwet,” followed directly by raising her pudgy pointer finger up to her lips, “Shhh.”

“Secret, huh?” Ava remarks, mirth evident in her tone, eyes catching on Beatrice rounding the corner, pastry box cradled in one hand and totes full of groceries slung over her other shoulder. Beatrice’s eyes twinkle in reply on her way to the kitchen. Ava reaches a hand up, gently brushing the powdered sugar off Pilar’s cheeks. “What did you guys do?”

“Went to the pawhk.” Pilar’s soft r has a touch of formality. Terribly proper. Terribly cute. “Thewe was a hmm pah—pah hmm pato. I don’t wike patos.”

“You saw a duck?”

Beatrice laughs and both their heads swivel to the kitchen as she continues to pull the groceries out. “It was a goose.”

“A goose!”

Pilar makes a face. “Scawy. Mummy scwawed.”

“I bet.”

Beatrice huffs out. “I wasn’t scared!”

“Mummy wan and and and said, ‘upa upa upa upaupaupaupaupaupa!’” Pilar lifts her hands up in the air all while running in circles.

They both laugh at their daughter’s antics. A cute blush making its way onto her wife's cheeks.

“Mamá,” Pilar says, beside her, itching to climb up onto the stool where she’s sitting. “What awe you pwaying?”

Ava leans down, wrapping her arms around Pilar’s small form, carefully placing her on top of her thighs and wrapping the blanket around them. “I was playing mummy’s song.” Pilar nods, her curls bouncing as she does. “Do you remember? She sang it last week.”

“With—with the ouwc—kestah.”

“Yes, with the orchestra,” she confirms, right hand coming back to the keys in front of them. Playing the tune again for Pilar to hear. For her to remember. “What colour dress was mummy wearing?”

“White!”

“That’s right.”

Pilar wiggles in place. “Mummy looked like a pwincess.”

Ava nods, placing a kiss on top of Pilar’s head. 

It’s not long until Beatrice joins them, a bowl of cut fruit in her hand. Pears, kiwis and persimmons. They scooch over, making space for Beatrice to sit beside them. Ava holds the blanket open for her, cocooning them all within its warmth. 

Little fingers extend to the bowl placed on top of the piano lid, coming away with a slice of persimmon. 

They sit quietly as Ava plays through the soft melody. 

An old memory comes to her then, of little Ava just slightly older than Pilar is now. Sitting down on her mother’s thighs, watching as her mother’s fingers traveled up and down the very same upright piano before the three of them now. 

Ava’s eyes fall to her daughter and then back to the keys. Remembering. Grateful. 

The same but different.

Beatrice scrunches her eyebrows. “Not that A.”

“Higher?”

“This one,” Beatrice reaches around them, tapping the key softly. Hand lazily trailing back along Ava’s back, rubbing small circles. 

“Do you think we should let mummy play?” 

Pilar nods excitedly, bouncing on her thighs.

Ava stands, Pilar balanced on her waist. 

Beatrice adjusts herself on the stool, folding the blanket and neatly placing it on the basket nearby. 

“What would you like me to play?” Beatrice asks, sitting with perfect posture, hands waiting patiently above the keys. 

“Mummy’s song!” Pilar answers right away, throwing her short arms around Ava’s neck.

Her wife smiles, all dimpled and adorable, then, without waiting another moment begins to play. Right hand first with a flurry that cascades down the keys, the melody is gentle, reminiscent of Clair de Lune and of similar composers of the time period. But then, the familiar notes start, the ones that Ava played earlier, but more thought out. With all the proper flowery additions.

It stings at the corner of her eyes. And she has to look away at first. Too caught up with the feelings that the song evokes to be properly present in the living room of their home, with a child that resembles both of them more and more each day. From the cheeky personality, the curls of her hair, to the boisterous way she enters rooms and finds the world endlessly magical around them.

Ava sniffles and it catches Pilar’s attention. And just as her mum is, Pilar is as well. Endlessly aware of both her and Beatrice’s feelings. Their daughter wraps her arms tighter, snuggling closer and nuzzling into Ava’s neck.

The song lifts, and the need to waltz around the living room is too great to resist. So Ava grips Pilar tighter against her and spins them round and around until giggles erupt from both of them. Pilar’s eyes turning into small crescents as Ava’s hands come to her tummy for unrestricted access to tickles. 

Beatrice stands, song forgotten and walks to them. Arms wrapping them all together into a hug. And she must catch something in Ava’s eyes because she leans forward, depositing a lingering kiss on her cheek.

“Me! My kiss?” Pilar squeals, outraged.

Beatrice smiles toothily before kissing Pilar’s cheek as well.

“Mamá también!” (Mama too!)

Ava responds with a flurry of kisses, coaxing those small crescents back. As she draws back, gaze falling to her wife, she finds them there too.

—

THE END

—

[Between chapter 4-5]

She’s not sick. Or that’s what Ava’s telling herself as the mouse pointer strays just a little too far from the audio controls of the program. She’s sniffly. Has been sniffly for the past few hours, but she needs to finish. And she’s not sure if at this point the irritating tickle in her throat or if the song, which has been perpetually playing loops around in her head, is to blame for the brain fog.

There’s a knock. It’s muted at first and she thinks she’s imagining it, but then it gets stronger, louder, more insistent. When she stands to answer the door—probably security or a sound engineer looking for an instrument—her legs feel like jelly. She has to actually spread her arms out to the side to balance herself for a few seconds as her brain does that white noise TV static thing and the couch stops self-replicating.

By some miracle she makes it to the door. Pulling it once, but not at all managing to turn the handle enough to unlock it. But when she finally does, big bubbly honey brown eyes greet her. Though they’re not the usual endearingly inquisitive ones, they’re worried and a little startled.

“Ava,” Beatrice says from behind the door that’s only slightly ajar.

“Oh—you’re back. What are you—”

Beatrice pushes the door open just enough to fit herself inside, closing it behind her. “I’m here to pick you up,” gently nudging Ava to one side before she bustles past, “You can continue to work on ‘Cute’ once you’re better.” She refuses to say the song title correctly and Ava doesn’t know what to make of it. It’s cute, she admits. It’s cute that Beatrice wants to be practical. Beatrice is also cute herself so that’s definitely a bonus.

“CUUUUuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuute,” Ava supplies in what she hopes is enough emphasis, but it comes out like she’s currently going through a psychedelic infused trip.

Beatrice lifts one beautiful sculpted eyebrow, “You sound worse in person.”

“I’m fine,” she says dismissively, hand fanning the space between them, but it smacks into Beatrice’s nose. Her perfect nose.

“Right.” Beatrice doesn’t address her current state of being, which is increasingly snotty by the second and is she hot? She feels hot. Without missing a beat, Beatrice's hand comes to her forehead. “You’re hot.”

“Right backatcha.” Ava can be smooth. She’s super smooth. There's a noisy wheeze that emerges from her nose when she remembers to manually breathe in. 

“I’m taking you home,” Beatrice states, eyes and body dead set on the rack with Ava’s coat and backpack. She grabs the backpack and starts to walk around the studio, collecting Ava’s things. “Do you have medicine? I can cook something warm for you.”

“Your flat?”

Beatrice noticeably pauses for a few seconds, a multitude of emotions flitting across her face, “If that’s what you want. Yes. My flat.”

She’s being helped into her coat in the next instance, and the backpack gets slung over Beatrice’s shoulder, but only for a moment. Beatrice is walking over the computer, saving, and safely removing the memory storage, before placing it in the backpack. And Ava’s heart kinda does a little jump. Of course Beatrice would right click and go out of her way to hit eject and take her time to properly shut down the computer instead of forcefully ending every program until the computer’s lifeless corpse sits there in silence.

“Okay, let’s go home.”

“You can take me anywhere, hot stuff.” 

Yeah. She’s sick.

Beatrice sighs. Actually sighs. It’s animated and exasperated and very cute. Does Beatrice know how cute she is? She shouldn’t know how cute she is, Ava decides, looping an arm around said cute person because if Beatrice knew she was cute then that would mean more competition for Ava. And she can’t have that. She needs to maintain whatever reputation she has left and murderer shouldn't be in her record. 

The taxi ride had been uneventful. She had managed to drool on Beatrice’s coat at some point when she made the mistake of closing her eyes, for only a moment she swears—like a quick power nap or something. She couldn’t help it, Beatrice’s shoulder was right there and her hand was so soft, doing those small circles that soothe her right away. 

“Can you take off your clothes?” Beatrice's voice snaps her out of her reverie. Those are nice words. Words she wants to hear a lot. Especially if Beatrice is in the room saying them. 

When Ava opens her eyes again they’re in the bathroom. There’s steam floating up from the hot bubble bath. Beatrice is straddling a wooden step stool, hand outstretched for some reason. There’s a towel draped on her shoulder and a concerned dip in her brow. 

“I’ll close my eyes, I promise. I just need you to get in the water before the fever gets any higher.”

Ava doesn’t know why she thinks it, but she knows she does it and it happens. She lifts her hand and bops Beatrice’s nose. “You’re cute.” It makes Beatrice’s nose crinkle adorably.

Beatrice, true to her word, closes her eyes the moment Ava reaches for the end of her shirt. The clothing items are handed over one by one, and Beatrice takes them all, depositing them on top of her lap. “Hold my hand when you step inside,” she wiggles her fingers for emphasis. 

“It’s hot,” it comes out whiny and probably testy but Beatrice doesn’t reprimand, she just sits there, eyes still closed and cheeks pink. From the temperature…Ava hazards a guess. “You can look.” 

One eye opens hesitantly and then the other. “Will you be able to stay in there without drowning? I’m going to get soup started for you for when you come out.” 

Ava nods, finding a pill underneath her tongue. When did that get there? 

Beatrice hands her a glass of water to drink from before pressing a kiss to the top of her head as she turns to leave, glass in hand. She hesitates, dragging the step stool to prop the bathroom door open. “Call out if you need anything.”

As soon as Beatrice is out of sight and in the hallway, Ava calls out, “Bea?”

Beatrice quickly sticks her head back in. “Yes?”

“I was just checking.” 

Beatrice sighs heavily and shakes her head before walking away again.

Ava waits a few more seconds. “Bea?”

The footsteps shuffle close again, Beatrice’s worried face appearing by the doorway. “Ava?”

“Uh…uh…I’m happy you’re back.”

A rueful smile crosses Beatrice’s face. “Me too.”

This time Beatrice’s footsteps have totally receded down the hall before Ava yells out again, “Bea!”

The stool skids across the tile floor as Beatrice rushes back into the bathroom. “What’s wrong?”

“Will you come back and sit with me when dinner is finished?”

“Yes, Ava, I promise! Please allow me to go cook dinner now.”

Ava nods and closes her eyes. She hears the stool being put back into place, Beatrice’s footsteps receding quicker this time. 

As the water soothes and the steam slowly breaks down the build up in her airways. Her thoughts don’t take long to stray into the now very heavily visited territory of Beatrice. 

Beatrice and how cute she is. 

Beatrice and the way she takes care of her.

Beatrice, the puzzle that she wants to spend days trying to piece together.

—

[Chapter 15 - New Years Day]

“Where’s the…I don’t—I don’t understand where’s the sugar? Is this sugar?” Beatrice mutters, lifting and closing the lids from jars and then shuffling them to the side. “Cafesito—sugar in the foam before or was it after…the shot comes out. Stir—sugar.”

Ava’s eyes settle on her girlfriend’s back as the coffee machine springs into life, startling her. Beatrice’s movements become more agitated, the jars sliding across the counter with less care now. 

There’s chatter outside. The family in lively conversation upon the start of a new year. Officially.

“Baby—”

Beatrice spins, hands frantically gripping at the counter behind her. “Why would you creep up on me like that!”

“When did you get up?” She takes the rest of the steps to stand next to Beatrice. The counter is riddled with different spoons and cups of dead coffee. “Is everything alright?”

“I didn’t want to wake you. Emilia caught me sneaking out of your room and threatened me with a pan. She makes really good eggs, did you know? Anyway, abuela and abuelo were up so I figured I’d join them for breakfast and speak to them some more. I didn’t know you had braces. You never mentioned it. Or that you had an emo phase in high—”

“Stop.”

“The braces or the emo phase?”

“Both. Just no. I didn’t want you to know that.”

“I saw pictures. Abuela opened one of the cabinets in the living room and it has so many albums. We ate breakfast and she showed me childhood photos of you. And I saw your mom—you two look so much alike, Ava. I know I’ve said it before, but she was holding you as a baby and I just couldn’t stop thinking how—and then abuelo took one of the pictures of you in pigtails and gave it to me and I just didn’t know how to say no—not that I wanted to, but I also didn’t want to come across as overly eager—it’s in my wallet now.”

“You’re doing your rant thing, what’s wrong? Why are you stress ranting?”

“Emilia said to mix the sugar with the foam from the coffee. What foam is she talking about? Where’s the sugar? I don’t want to do this incorrectly. Everything is on the line and I don’t want to let them down. I think they like me and I don’t want them to have the wrong impression of me. I can’t be a person that doesn’t know how to make coffee.”

Ava grips Beatrice’s hands. “Woah. Okay. We’re going to relax.”

“I can’t relax, Ava! I don’t even know where the sugar is.”

“It’s here.” 

Beatrice follows her movements as Ava steps on her tiptoes to grab one of the jars on the open shelf in front of them.“Oh. I didn’t look—”

“I’ll show you how to make it.”

“Okay.”

“Watch me.” The coffee grounds go into the bin and the grinder refills the basket. “First, we queue the shot and wait for the first of the crema to come out. Then, you take a little bit with the spoon…like this,” Ava holds the small spoon under the spout as the first of the shot comes out. “And you mix it with the sugar.” She mixes for quite some time, enough for the crema to foam. “When all the sugar granules have melted you add it back to the shot, okay? You try now.”

Beatrice follows the steps exactly as she had done a few minutes before. “Like this?” she asks, concentrating hard on mixing the sugar and the crema.

Ava nods into Beatrice’s back, looping her arms around her girlfriend’s waist. “Are your arm muscles burning?”

“Yes.”

“If it’s not burning you’re doing it wrong.”

“It’s burning!”

When there’s five small cups of coffee all perfectly aligned on the counter Beatrice relaxes into her. Content to just fall into the back-hug. “You did well,” Ava encourages, leaning enough to catch Beatrice’s gaze for a kiss.

“Thank you, my love,” Beatrice says in relief once their kiss ends. 

The temptation to nuzzle her nose against Beatrice’s is far too great to deny. It sends a flurry of butterflies through her stomach as the affection is returned in kind. Beatrice’s nose making oink oink noises on her cheeks.

“Moooooorning.” 

They both freeze. 

Emilia bites back an angry retort as she shoots a sharp glare at Ava. But Ava's ploy has succeeded. Emilia is visibly less nervous as she leans back into her armchair, bag now slung on her crossed knee. 

The worker laughs nervously but doesn’t otherwise respond as she glances at the man seated in front of Ava and Emilia. She proceeds to set the tray she’s carrying down on the table before them, backing up and stepping off to the side afterwards.

The man seated across from them reaches out with his gloved hands and adjusts the tray by a few millimetres, orientating it squarely in front of them. All very precise and following a set of ingrained protocols. Once the tray is perfectly positioned, he takes a satisfied breath and asks, “Ms. Silva, how can I help you today?”

“Mateo, I think today is the day,” Ava replies decisively, eyes trained on him and hands folded on her lap, feet perfectly still. 

Ava is calm. 

That nervousness already happened. It had dissipated somewhere between the numerous, vocally charged and emotionally extensive, Ava and Emilia talks. Where they spoke about it. Lengthy chats at first. Then, shorter ones just to ‘make sure’, Emilia had said after relentlessly needling her for months.

When they had arrived, the workers were already familiar with Ava. She has frequented often in the past months. Made it part of her routine. Sneakily at first. Wearing a bucket hat and sunglasses. She’s sure alarms were raised with her awkward illicit-esque posturing and indecisiveness. They had looked at her closely, tempted to refuse entry. 

Though, the more she visited, the more she found herself discarding her disguise. Slowly becoming more assertive with what she wanted. More certain. An act mirroring the changes happening in her own life. 

When presented with choices, Ava had scrutinised, planned and dreamed. The more she thought about her future, the more a recurring thought buried itself within and made a home. Keeping her warm and comforted.

(Y)(S)

All I wanna be

Is with you in your arms in our room

Living small in a big house

I've been having dreams, have you had them too?

I see me and you

By the door, rushing in from the rain

At the back of the garden

Do you see that too?

The air crackles with excitement once they’re left alone.

Emilia is sitting back against the armchair picking at the skin around her nails. 

Again. 

“Did it scare you when I brought Beatrice home?” Ava asks, studying her aunt. Curious about what Emilia must have thought at the time. In amongst their myriad of talks, she had never thought to ask the question before. 

Emilia observes Ava closely before replying, “A little. It was strange. You had never done that before. Never even thought to do that before,” Emilia pauses, her eyes shifting towards the table. “Part of me could tell it was serious then, but I don’t think you knew or were aware of it yet.”

Ava’s eyes follow the motion. “I knew. ” She almost squeals again when her eyes land on it. Heart threatening to hammer out of her chest the longer she stares and thinks of the possibilities it holds.

They're well acquainted by now.

Both eager.

Both waiting. 

Both hopeful.

Sometimes I get sad

At the front, at the back

In the middle of the happiest moments

'Cause good things can go bad easily

So I don't wanna slow down

Wanna jump, wanna fly, wanna fall

I wanna hit the ground running

Do you wanna marry me?

Ava and Emilia both behold the silver band nestled in its walnut brown box, the accompanying intricately cut diamond glistening underneath the incandescence of the overhead lights. 

Ava is careful as she pulls the ring out to hold it. The physical embodiment of a future she may or may not have with Beatrice. No scratches or blemishes. Yet. 

“She would probably turn up her nose in that cute posh way of hers if I got her something too flashy, right?” Ava says, a shaky laugh escaping her. “I think she would. I think she’ll love this one.” 

Emilia shifts in her chair giving her a look. “If the time comes, of course,” Ava corrects herself.

Her aunt smiles softly, pinching at Ava's cheek. Her face is a mixture of emotions. Ava can’t discern them all. She wouldn’t know where to begin. “Ava, it’s just for strength. A totem, like you promised me. I’m already grappling with letting you do this. You both have to be ready. You can’t overwhelm her. You’re not going to give it to her—”

“I know.” 

The ring is returned to its box. 

The potential future is too boundless to not think about. 

Their fingers entwined together again. Beatrice’s left hand bearing it. 

Forever ain't forever if we're not together

I don't wanna put a load of pressure on you

I just wanna tell you, I just wanna tell you

Without you, I don't know what I'd do

They’ve stopped just outside of the departure drop off for the terminal. The idle engine hum from the town car is the only sound apart from the clear signs of breathy noises coming from her aunt’s turned figure, actively avoiding Ava’s gaze. Emilia has been relatively quiet since they left the boutique. Like Ava, Emilia is worried. Trepidation is burying itself within.

Emilia runs her hand under her nose, disguising a sniffle. She’s being sneaky. Ever the stoic, strong exterior. But when Ava catches her eye, she inhales sharply and says, “This is a lot, you can’t expect me not to…you know…”

“Cry?”

A nod and then, “I keep thinking about Pilar. These last few years—with everything— if things would have been different if she had been around for you—to listen to you, to help you. If she’d know the right things to say,” her voice cracks under the sincerity. “And then I think about how she would have been so happy for you, to see you grow into this amazing adult who makes mistakes and gets back up every time. And I just feel guilty about being the one to experience it all, instead of her.”

Emilia’s words land heavy. They tug somewhere deep inside the crevices of Ava’s heart, where she has hidden these feelings about her mother too. Incapable of uttering them. Scared to, at times. Ava feels her throat tighten. 

“I don’t want you to think this way. Would things have been different? Probably.” She reaches out, holding Emilia’s hand, “But I wouldn’t have been the same person. I am all you’ve instilled in me.”

A wet sob makes its way out of Emilia’s nose. “Watching you today has been one of the happiest moments of my life. I—I just want you to be happy, Ava.”

“I want you to be happy too, Tití.”

With one tug, Emilia pulls Ava in for a final rib crushing hug and squish. “Good luck, cariño.”

—

The hinges of the garden gate screech as Ava presses against it. Water droplets from the afternoon rain trickle off the steel of the gate and run down her arm as she pushes it back into one of the shrubs. The familiar off red and beige of the brick path to Beatrice’s maisonette sets off every synapse in Ava’s brain. Every nerve-ending sending signals throughout her entire body. Her fingers shake, her legs wobble and her heart races.

Ava focuses her eyes on the muted green of the flat’s front door. Thumb and pointer finger running along the smooth curvature of the ring nestled in her jean’s front pocket. 

For strength. Only for strength.

Almost there. Just a little more.

She raises her chin up and takes a deep breath. 

The knock echoes down the street and courses through her. 

Nothing worth having has ever come easily to Ava. She has always been a hard worker. She knows what it is to fight for her place in the world, in the industry. This won’t be any different.

Drawn out moments pass by. Long enough for Ava to think there’s no one home. But that can’t be right. Camila had arrived yesterday from Los Angeles which meant the rest of the band had as well. Then, she hears it, footsteps coming down the stairs. They’re messy, as if in a rush or preoccupied with something else. Not Beatrice’s usual, steady cadence. The one Ava is familiar with. The one that is assured and surefooted.

The door swings open and her stomach drops.

“Sorry I took so long I wasn’t expec—oh. Ava? I didn’t—Beatrice didn’t say—hello,” Sarah stammers a bit in her confusion.

Seeing Sarah on the other side of this door makes her throat ache. A dull pain coming through right away, a familiar feeling now. One that Ava has learned to cohabitate with. To live with ever since she saw Beatrice follow after Sarah through the garden gate last July.

Ava’s hand goes to her pocket again, tracing the smooth surface. “Hi,” she hopes it comes out neutral. That Sarah cannot discern that there’s a lump in her throat and that her heart is racing wildly. Her mind vividly flashes with memories of this very spot. Right at the threshold where she and Sarah are standing. 

Keys dropping onto the floor. 

Beatrice, waiting just below the lantern for her. 

Rushing in after dinner dates with bellies full and the comfort of home waiting.

Sarah follows the motion of Ava’s eyes as they land on the packed boxes in the entryway. “Sorry for the mess,” she says kicking at one of the boxes sheepishly, “we’re a bit disorganised today.”

Ava swallows. The significance of the boxes picking at the wound that just won’t seem to heal. “It’s okay. Is—uh—Beatrice home? I was hoping to—there’s this thing with the album I wanted to discuss with her.”

“You just missed her. She’s with Levy. I think they said they were getting crates? I’m not sure.” Sarah shrugs, pulling her phone out and peering at it briefly. “It shouldn’t be long if you want to come in and wait.”

Absolutely not.

“Oh…no that’s—I wouldn’t want to intrude. I can just come back—”

“Nonsense.” Sarah is shaking her head and beckoning her in with a free hand, “I’ll put on the kettle and make us some tea.”

Ava nods, and at that Sarah pulls the door open enough for Ava to squeeze in between the boxes and the frame before closing it behind them. 

Sarah heads up the stairs first, allowing Ava the ability to follow and look around, unobserved. 

Beatrice has painted the stairwell a dramatic burgundy, a distinct change from the ochre yellow when Ava had last been at the maisonette. The framed art and pictures that used to hang on the stairwell wall have all changed as well. The sight of these changes unseats something in Ava. She had chosen some of those pieces with Beatrice at the start of their relationship. Her first true inclusion to the flat.

Mercifully, Sarah does not turn around to look at her and she is able to school her features into something other than dismay. 

Ava casts the thought out as she follows Sarah up the stairs, mindful of the steps that creak too much when you step on them at the wrong angle. It catches Ava’s attention that Sarah sets most of them off on the way up. Beatrice had taught Ava where to stand one jet lagged night. Both treating it as a game. Every time she successfully avoided a squeaky step, she had been rewarded with a kiss. Mundane and silly, but it had brought them so much joy then. That had been one thing that had truly caught her off guard in her relationship with Beatrice, the simple enjoyment of each other’s company. The quiet, happy peace of just being around the other, doing anything and everything together, or separately but beside one another.

The state of chaos in the living room is what greets Ava upon entering the flat. The parquet floor littered in bubble wrap and scrunched up butcher’s paper. Half full and completely empty boxes lying open throughout the living room. 

There’s a vinyl spinning on Beatrice’s record player, filling the space with the sound of Nina Simone’s soulful voice.

(Y)(S)

There’s a light 

A certain kind of light

It’s never shown on me

I want my whole life to be lived with you

Lived with you

The red, modern abstract photo next to the window is gone and replaced by a sketch. The wall behind the couch, once covered in dozens upon dozens of paintings and framed photographs of Beatrice’s life, all removed and packed up. The holes left behind the only indication of them being there in the first place.

A startled laugh bursts out of Ava’s throat. “You’ve been busy.” 

It’s not funny. Not in the slightest.

Sarah’s surveying the fruits of her labour in response, spinning about on her heel. “Yes, we woke up this morning and decided to get started. Still lots to do though.”

Ava gestures casually towards the record player. “Nina Simone. Do you like jazz?”

At that, Sarah’s face noticeably brightens. “Yes! I’ve grown up listening to it, my parents were always listening to one artist or another. But I never knew much about the music making side of it all so it’s been fascinating to learn about that aspect of it from Beatrice and the rest of the band. Did you know that Beatrice went to school for it? Do you enjoy jazz as well?”

Ava sighs internally. Of course Sarah would enjoy jazz. Another mark in her mental list of all the ways that Sarah is amazing.

“I appreciate aspects of jazz and do listen to it but it’s not one of my preferred genres.”

At that, Ava bends down to unlace one shoe and then the other, careful to avoid eye contact as she looks downwards, taking the moment to compose herself yet again. She picks the shoes up, only to turn around and be greeted by Beatrice’s old wooden shoe shelf, full of shoes—both Beatrice’s and a few pairs that clearly belong to Sarah. The green stool she had purchased for the home is nowhere in sight. 

“Where can I—” she turns and accidentally runs into a bag that is almost her size, which tumbles to the floor with a loud clang. “Crap. I’m so sorry.”

Sarah doesn’t seem at all bothered with the sudden destruction. “It’s alright, we’ve both run into it so many times now.” She hauls the bag upwards by its handles, there’s a heft to it as she does it, and leans it back against the wall. “Just Beatrice’s fencing gear. We can’t really store it anywhere so it’s been living by the shoes. Not seeing it from the corner of my eye soon will be a relief.”

It feels like she’s been punched in the stomach at yet another reminder of what Beatrice is about to embark upon. With Sarah.

Can’t you see what I am

I live and breathe for you

What good does it do If I ain’t got you If I ain’t got you

If I ain’t got you If I ain’t got you

Sarah indicates to the corner where several sets of shoes have been discarded and Ava sets her Vans next to Beatrice’s Chucks. The sight of them together brings her comfort in a way she hadn’t expected.

Ava subtly reaches her hand down again and pats at her front pocket, drawing strength from the indent of its shape. Reminds herself of what she’s here to do. To say.

Curiosity bites at her. Hungry for any tidbit of Beatrice’s life and to hear of anything that brings her joy. “Is she good?”

“She’s amazing. Annoyingly good, I would say.” A fond smile comes easily to Ava. Of course. “She properly swept the floor with me within the first few months of lessons.”

That catches Ava by surprise. “You fence as well?” The conversation as she and Beatrice walked around in Milan cycles through Ava’s mind. Beatrice had known Sarah then.

“No. I tried. The keyword is tried. I didn’t have the patience or the endurance for it. The lessons were fun though. Getting to know others was probably my favourite aspect of it.” Sarah doesn’t say it, but it sits there between them. She clears her throat, “I’ll get started on the tea.”

Baby you don’t know what it’s like

To love somebody

To love somebody

The way I love you

Ava takes a chance to look around some more as Sarah disappears into the kitchen. 

The vinyl shelf is still perfectly intact. Not a stray record out from its proper spot. 

The baby grand piano that used to sit by the window is now in the farthest corner of the room, making space for a desk that wasn’t there before. 

The more Ava looks the more she finds things out of place. Things have shifted. Things have changed. Things are gone. 

Each change compounds within her. It unsettles her. It makes her scratch at the back of her neck. 

“How do you take your tea?” Sarah asks once the high-pitched whistle of the kettle subsides.

Ava walks along the mess, carefully stepping with her socks along the wooden floor in the direction of the kitchen.

The kitchen remains unchanged. Exactly how Ava left it. Well, apart from a few dishes she isn’t familiar with and the dining table orientated in a different direction. Sarah opens cupboards, familiar with its organisation, and pulls out the sugar and teabags from them. Seeing someone else, other than Vivian, so comfortable in Beatrice’s kitchen pulls at the scab. The first signs of blood freeing itself, ready to coagulate and seal the wound again.

“Green. Usually,” Ava replies.

“Oh—umm. Give me a second then. I’ll have to look for the…the…” Sarah stops, taken aback by Ava’s sudden autonomy as Ava reaches past her and pulls open a drawer, “...infuser.” The drawer rattles closed as Ava wiggles the infuser in her hand. “Thank you.”

Sarah takes the infuser, collects the green tea leaves from the cupboard, and swivels back around to prepare their teas. Ava takes that as her opportunity to make her way back to the living room. It’s some sort of safety at least. Away from Sarah.

They’re both sitting on the couch drinking their tea now. Ava notes that her green tea is bitter and incorrectly brewed, the temperature must have been too high for the leaves to properly release their flavour notes. She makes an effort to drink from it in intervals, careful to school her features after each sip.  

The conversation had naturally progressed to Sarah’s current book and the intricacies of capturing the moment in childhood when you become hyperaware of the world around you. Sarah had adjusted herself then and Ava spotted it. Sarah is wearing it. Bea’s white shirt with the matcha stain on the collar. The stain Ava herself created, then tried to remove several times and failed. She has to look away. Can’t bring herself to linger on it. On the connotation. How it unsettles her.

She had involuntarily sucked in a breath when they first laid eyes on it. 

Beatrice to her right, hands folded behind her back, had stood with impeccable posture, quiet and equally as riveted as Ava was by the unassuming art piece on display in front of them.

Goya’s red chalk drawing of ‘Tristes presentimientos de lo que ha de acontecer’ (Sad Forebodings of What is to Happen) hung in front of them. Exceedingly simplistic in its depiction—that of a man kneeling with outstretched arms and looking upwards—the sentiment of hopelessness; stark and undeniable. 

The drawing, part of Goya’s ‘Los desastres de la guerra’ (The Disasters of War), the entirety of the series a commentary on the violence of war, with this artwork posing a question as to the meaning of life, suffering, and death. Matters that Goya himself had been struggling with, by then almost deaf, in poor health, and widowed. 

Ava and Beatrice had been unable to tear their eyes from it. Eyes flickering back and forth across the small piece, fixated by every minute detail and chalk stroke. Both had stood stock still in front of it as the minutes ticked by, ignoring the trickle of the crowds as they had filed into that exhibition hall at Museo del Prado, gawked at the artwork and then moved on with their lives. In her stupor Ava had neglected to dip her head to hide her side profile but luckily, no one had recognised her or had mercifully chosen not to create a scene and approach. 

Ava is reminded of that memory now. Reminded of the echo of that moment, of fundamentally recognising that slither of hopelessness, so apparent on the man’s upturned face, imploring the heavens, asking why and having it resonate within her, that malignant black mass within her recognising a friend. 

She is also reminded of Beatrice having turned to her with a smile and a knowing glint in her eyes, laying a firm hand on Ava’s forearm and gently pulling her away, out of that dark space, together. 

Maybe Goya, in all his wisdom, should have depicted the scene before her. Ava assigned the role of interloper, observing the nightmarish scene of Beatrice and Sarah co-existing in this flat, in her safe space, together. 

No place for Ava now.

There is no Beatrice beside her now, to offer a sure hand, to pull her out of this monster.

Ava can hear the thud of her racing heart ringing in her ears. That galloping, pulsating beat. 

Every muscle feels strained and locked into place. Forced to reckon with what’s before her, the danger, a threat to her survival.

Humans have an innate compulsion to survive. Over time, we have evolved to have an immediate physiological and psychological response to a perceived harm or a threat to our survival. When dealt a hand that is too dangerous to confront, Ava’s instinct is to turn tail and run.

Everything screams at her to run. To flee. 

The ring burns in her pocket. The metal and its accompanying stone, a threadbare whisper of material away from the naked skin of her thigh, a solid reminder pressed against her. 

Almost as if she had willed it into being, more memories float through her mind. Beatrice’s tone, increasingly hopeless, as the memories spring forth.

“Regardless, I would fight a war for you Beatrice Young.”

Beatrice chortles in response. “I don’t doubt it.”

“You want everything but you’re not prepared to give up anything—to lose anything.”

“Why don’t you fight for me? You’re willing to risk us, for a career you may or may not have?”

“I’m done trying to piece us back together. If you won’t fight for me, then I’m better off without you.” 

She hadn’t fought. She had promised she would fight and then let go with a whimper. 

Ava blinks tightly for a few seconds and reminds herself of her purpose. She is here now to make good on her words. To fight.

Ava breathes in a calming breath, silencing the voice telling her to run and making herself big in her mind. Beatrice is worth it, is worth overcoming her fears for.

However, the art of war is recognising when circumstances are stacked against you and that it is favourable to strategically retreat to prepare for another day. As time drags on and Beatrice does not return, Ava recognises that she will not be able to say all that she needs to say to Beatrice. Not here, not today.

Moreover, she cannot ignore the thorny reminder of guilt in her side and before her eyes. Sarah, who has been nothing but kind and hospitable to her throughout all of their interactions, does not deserve this. Does not deserve what Ava has resolved to do. 

There must be another way.

With an obvious movement Ava looks down at her phone screen and exaggeratedly widens her eyes, feigning surprise at the time. She emits a shriek of what she hopes is a convincing chortle, “Oops, I didn’t realise the time. I’ve already interrupted your packing for long enough. I’m supposed to go meet Randall to buy a—a couch. Yes, that’s right. For him and Nico.” Internally, she winces. Yeah, that wasn’t going to fool Sarah. She dips her head and taps at her phone methodically, mimicking the movement of someone ordering an Uber. Pretends that her phone isn’t shaking in her grasp. The tremble of her hand, obvious to Sarah. “Sarah, it was nice to see you again. My Uber will be here any moment. I’ll go and wait outside for it.”

Ava doesn’t know how she does it—how her body makes it down the stairs, through the garden gate and onto the footpath. But it does. Her wide steps taking her farther and farther from Beatrice’s flat. Past the stoops and gardens bursting with Spring flowers and overgrown weeds.

There’s a struggle as her lungs keep up with the frantic walking and the self-flagellation that just occurred. She must look a sight with her head bowed, tears pooling and on the verge of breaking free. It surprises Ava how much she can’t bring herself to care. Not even when an older man turns his head with worry when she passes him. 

The uneven pavement below is difficult to manoeuvre with it being slightly raised at odd angles by the intricate root systems of nearby trees. If she focuses hard enough on the cobblestone then the tears won’t fall. If she concentrates really hard on not crying then maybe she can make it far enough away that the tears won’t matter anymore.

Being a few houses away from Beatrice’s flat allows Ava the space to finally take in air. 

In and out. In and out. In and out. 

The nerves will need longer to recoup. They always do now. 

In and out. In and out. In and out. 

Ava repeats in her head, running through the motions of calming herself. Air comes in through her nose and her chest puffs up, she closes her eyes, centers herself, holds the breath in for ten seconds, then releases it through her mouth slowly. She does this several times and it allows her thoughts free access to roam through her mind again. Thoughts she had selfishly pushed back hours before. 

What had she been thinking? That Sarah wouldn’t be there? That she had the right to say anything to Beatrice? That she could come between them?

“Ava?”

Ava’s head jerks up at the sound of her name. The voice is immediately warm and comforting. It always is. There’s a hint of surprise as well, as if Beatrice, just like Ava, doesn’t quite believe she’s here either. Ava’s eyes don’t take long to trail up Beatrice’s approaching figure, first landing on a set of sneakers, beige pants and making their way up to a wooly blue sweater. 

Beatrice is mere metres away, awkwardly carrying a few collapsed wooden crates under her arm. The short distance between them closes fast as Beatrice’s easy steps bring them together sooner than Ava has the time to wipe at the side of her face with a trembling hand. The side of her palms coming away moist.

Beatrice looks past Ava in the direction she has just come from and then back to her. “Did you just—are you okay? You’re crying—”

“I’m fine.” Ava smiles weakly, wiping at her eyes again.

Beatrice’s eyebrows pull down, concern taking over. “You’re clearly not fine. Is everything okay? Why are you here?”

Standing in front of Beatrice is equal parts calming and suffocating. The need to reach out to hold, to find comfort, to be told everything will be okay is overwhelming as much as it is treacherous. 

But Beatrice is not Ava’s to find comfort in.

Not anymore.

“I thought—I thought that I could do this. That I could come here and tell you. But I can’t. It isn’t right.”

“Tell me what?” Beatrice asks softly. Too softly. Like she knows exactly what has led Ava to tears. When no reply is forthcoming Beatrice comes closer, her free hand reaching out to touch but not close enough to actually do it. Then it falls back down to her side. The lack of followthrough sends fresh tears to the corner of Ava’s eyes.

Ava’s eyes trail from Beatrice’s worried face to the crates folded under her arm. Beatrice follows the path as well, her shoulders rising with a sharp inhale. “Don’t do this. Please. Don’t do this.”

They regard one another for some time, both refusing to break eye contact, both intimately aware of the implication behind Ava’s words. Almost like a challenge. Whoever breaks it first needs to speak first. 

To hell with it.

Ava blinks, cutting the tension. Tightens her jaw, squares her chest and prepares to open that gash one once more. “I can no longer accept,” she pushes her legs forward to stand before Beatrice, “being a stranger to you.” Beatrice watches on silently. “I failed to measure up to what you wanted, no, what you needed. I lost you. I know I lost you.”

The crates are deposited on the ground and Beatrice crosses her arms instinctively, like she already knows where their conversation is headed. Preparing herself for the hurt. Trying to mitigate it. And Ava hates it. Hates that she makes Beatrice feel like she needs to close herself off. “You didn’t lose me, you let me go. There’s a big difference.” 

Ava nods because Beatrice is right. She’s not going to stand here and make excuses for herself. She has done that enough. “I wasn’t ready then, but I am ready now.”

The silence drags as Beatrice considers her next words. “You weren’t ready for someone who knew what they wanted, you mean?  But how could you have known what I wanted when you didn’t know what you wanted.” Beatrice purses her lips and goes in for the kill without hesitation. “Ava, why didn’t you love me enough to fight for me?”

Ava places her hand on the nearby fence for support. The paint flakes come loose under her thumb, the feeling of the small shards digging into her skin, a welcomed sensation. One that is keeping her from reverting to those months ago. To where looking at a mirror had been deadly and on the verge of self-annihilation. 

The insecurities cutting through her like a knife. Paranoia. Volatile dialogues. Feelings she couldn’t control. 

Push.

“I saw you, Beatrice. I saw the way I was hurting you. And I wish I could take everything back—all the pain I caused you. That I had better judgement to just say fuck it and be with you. To get out of both of our ways. Because the truth is, that’s what I wanted. I wanted you. But I was so so afraid.” Ava swallows to correct the dull pain in her throat. “I just didn’t want to keep hurting you.”

Beatrice’s face contorts into something painful as she looks on, her breath becoming ragged. “You know, loving you came easy. Like an instinct, a response.” There’s a far away look on her face, as if reminiscing, “It was a complete inconvenience to everything happening in my life at the time.” Beatrice stops, eyes meeting Ava’s. Truly meeting them. “And yet, I couldn’t help myself. The only thought other than my love for you was a question I didn’t want answered.”

Beatrice is quiet, scared to go on, but Ava needs to know. “What question?” She asks, both afraid and hopeful for what it might be.

“What if one day I don’t know you?” Beatrice answers simply, “What if one day I don’t know you at all?”

They both stand on the footpath, rendered speechless.

“Don’t do this,” Ava says again, this time pointing at the crates against Beatrice’s legs. “I can’t continue to live my life knowing that you are out there, living a life I do not know of, with someone else—a life that was meant for me, for us.”

Beatrice brings her hand to the bridge of her nose, pinching it. “So what do you want, Ava? Do you want to be friends? Is that it? Because I can’t do that.”

“I want you to love me—to love me and only me,” Ava stumbles out like she’s running out of time. As if not getting the words out means certain doom. “No one has ever loved me the way you do. So simply and without restraint. They loved versions of me, versions I diluted specifically for them. What I believed were easy parts of me to love. I never found myself crafting an idea of me for you. You had all of me from the very beginning. I’ve held nothing back.”

“I have never loved anyone the way I loved you. Even when I knew I shouldn’t. If anything, I wish I could have loved you less. It would have made things a lot simpler for me.” Beatrice goes silent, her eyes jumping to the small group of people heading in their direction, catching herself. She goes completely still, eyes seeking Ava’s. Waiting for her approval to speak in a public setting. 

“Please. Go on.”

Beatrice’s eyebrows draw upward incredulously for a brief second before she continues, “Back then I couldn’t figure out what you wanted and you wouldn’t tell me. And when you finally did,  it was too late. The damage was already done. You broke my trust. You broke my heart. How can you ask this of me now? When there’s a person that loves me and isn’t ashamed to be seen with me—to love me openly.”

“Do you love Sarah? Are you in love with—” Ava asks, small and on the brink of not being heard at all. Then, clears her throat, thinking better of it. Hearing it would kill her. It’s not an exaggeration. She cannot bear to hear those words coming out of Beatrice’s mouth. “Don’t answer that, I don’t want to know.” 

Beatrice’s voice is steady and her eyes unblinking when she says, “There are things I love about her.” 

Ava’s hand finds its way into the front pocket of her jeans. Beatrice’s need for honesty cutting deep. “I asked you not to—” she swallows the protest down. Thumb gently caressing the smooth band. Anything to bring her comfort. She can’t hear that again. She won’t. She would much sooner run from the very spot than stand here and hear Beatrice say any combination of that again. “I’ve been—I’ve been fighting for you, Beatrice. I don’t think you’ll ever understand how much I have done to be here right now—to stand in front of you and ask you not to do this. To reconsider. You said there are things you love about Sarah, is that enough? Is that enough for you?”

Beatrice’s gaze falls to where Ava’s hand is. She’s watching carefully, then, there’s a minute shake of her head and Beatrice breathes in roughly. “You’re going to have to learn to live with this, to make peace with it.” Ava feels something unstitch in herself. “I don’t think you should come back here—”

“No.”

“Ava, that's not how this works. I can’t just—”

“You’re not listening to me. You’re not understanding.” Ava says firmly. She needs to be clear. She needs Beatrice to know she’s here as an option. “You told me I wasn’t fighting for you and that—that destroyed me. Because I had been. I have been fighting all along. Through my own self-doubts, my tendencies, and my worst fears. I have been fighting. I’m fighting right now. I’m here to fight for you—to have a future with you. Together.”

Beatrice shakes her head. “And what? After all these years? All the hurt? You want me to just forget about it? There’s too much water under the bridge, Ava. Why do you think you’re ready now? You weren’t ready before, so why now? Because I’m happy with someone else?”

“Beatrice.” Ava enunciates, unable to temper the impatience in her tone. “I didn't come here out of jealousy. I'm here because what I want more than anything is to fall asleep with you beside me, and to wake up every morning knowing you're still there. That's it. That's all I want. For the rest of my life.”

Beatrice kicks the toe of her sneaker against the ground, the crates collapse on top of each other as she steps away from them. She nods as she paces by Ava before unceremoniously lowering herself onto the raised edge of the pavement. Ava can scarcely believe her eyes, needs to blink away the unfathomable nature of the move because Beatrice has never done this. Beatrice would never do this. Her upbringing doesn’t allow for this.

The action causes Ava to push off the fence to come sit on the curb next to Beatrice. Neither speaking for some time. Both deep in their own thoughts. Ava watches Beatrice’s side profile, long hair neatly braided to keep it away from her face, the freckles she loves sprinkled perfectly across Beatrice’s cheekbones, and pinched eyebrows that Ava can’t soothe away like she usually does.

“I came here last year in July,” Ava finally says when it seems Beatrice has no inclination to talk. From the corner of her eye she can see that Beatrice has turned to look at her, regarding her quietly. “I didn’t have anything planned at the time, but I was desperate to see you. I came to tell you that I was ready. I wanted you by my side while I started the process. But I—I saw that you were happy and I didn’t want to keep you from that.”

“You saw Sarah?”

“I did.” Ava releases a long held breath, picking at the fuzz on her jeans. “I have a plan now. I’ve had a plan for months. It’s taken a lot of work, especially from Emilia, who has been a huge driving force and indispensable support system. I’m ready now to do whatever I want.” Beatrice is quiet next to her. And it would concern Ava if it were any other person, but this is Beatrice. Beatrice, who listens without judgement. Beatrice, who is always patient. “I didn’t come here to tell you that though. I don’t want you to think I’m doing this to win you over or to—nevermind. I’m doing this for me. I just want to be happy.”

Beatrice turns away to look at something far off in the distance. She’s biting at her lip and her fingers don’t seem to settle, even though Ava can tell that Beatrice is trying hard not to fidget. “Ava, you know I can’t—I’m seeing Sarah. This isn’t fair to her. Even speaking to you now crosses the line. I can’t just—”

“You think I’m proud of this? I’m not. But I can’t watch you pack up your flat. I can’t watch you leave it behind. Because if you leave it behind, then you leave me behind with it.” Beatrice wrings her hands together until they almost turn white. “It’s unbearable, seeing you move on. I have been telling myself for months that I should wait until all the pieces are ready. But the longer I waited, the more I lost you. And I can’t wait anymore. I can’t lose any more of you.”

Beatrice lowers her head and rubs at her eyes.

“I’m an option, Beatrice. That’s why I’m here.”

Beatrice doesn’t lift her head as she speaks, “Our careers would never allow it. You and I both know that a relationship for us is an impossibility.” It comes out guarded. “We won’t have time for each other. Our lives are frantic. Exhausting. The same problems will arise again. You want us to go back to that? There’s no certainty that we will come out of it together. We’ll resent each other—”

“I want us to break free from the cycle. We can have our careers, and we can have each other. If you're willing, I'll give everything I have for us. Nothing will hold me back this time. And…and ––”, Ava needs to pause to swallow against the lump in her throat and the hopeless dread that coats her innards before continuing, “—I know that it may never match up to what Sarah can offer you, the ability to travel with you or to have a home to go to where she can be…present but I swear I will try. And I know, I know that you don’t have to share Sarah, that her career isn’t like ours, but please, Bea...”, Ava has to screw her eyes up against the plaintive plea in her voice, her voice wavering again before she screws up the nerve to say it, “Please Beatrice. I’m all in. Whatever you want, that’s what I want too.”

They watch each other. Both of their eyes bloodshot and on the verge of tears. Beatrice is doing a better job at hiding it than Ava. And Ava isn’t sure how she has managed to be beside Beatrice for this long, in this state, without at least leaning over to offer some kind of physical reassurance or comfort.

Beatrice is thinking. Her eyebrows furrowing just so. If it were anyone else, Ava would push for an answer, a retort, anything. But it’s Beatrice. There isn’t an answer to expect either. Not really. That’s not why Ava’s here. Beatrice nods once, “I understand.”

Ava nods too. 

“You should go.”

It hurts to hear it, but she has said what she needed to say. “If that’s what you want, then I’ll go.”

Beatrice stands and holds out a hand for Ava to take. The touch is fleeting and only long enough to help Ava to her feet. Once they're up, and both patting at their butts to knock off dirt, Beatrice releases a small chuckle. “My mother will never forgive me for what I just did,” Beatrice says, and Ava knows exactly what she means as they both stare at the footpath. 

“I think Vivian will overlook it just this once.”

Beatrice gathers the crates from where they collapsed, placing them under her arm again. “I’ll help you get a taxi.”

“Okay.”

They walk in silence for several blocks, heading in the direction of the main road. Both are too afraid to say anything else in case the peaceful moment shifts into something less amicable. Near the shops, the crossing light for the intersection goes off and Ava steps aside to make way for several people to get through. Beatrice does the same, all while shooting her a look of concern which Ava shrugs off. It doesn’t matter anymore. Only they matter. What should have been the reality from the outset.

Beatrice steps up onto the curb of the street, arm outstretched to flag a taxi. It doesn’t take long for one to pull up in front of them, Beatrice tugging at the backseat door with her free hand and swinging it open. “Careful,” she says, the same hand hovering over Ava’s head while she’s mid duck. The action halts both their movements briefly, eyes meeting. Both acutely aware of what the other is thinking.

“Don’t hurt your hand again,” Ava says.

“It’s a good thing Camila isn’t here to bonk your head into the car's frame.” 

They both chuckle.  

It’s once Ava’s sitting inside the taxi, hand resting on the interior door handle, and carefully watching Beatrice that she’s awarded with a sheepish smile right at the corner of Beatrice’s lips.

“I love you.” It slips out and Ava wants to bring up a hand to clap over her mouth, as if that will bring the words back to her. As if she could take it back. But it’s too late. It’s done. Did she mean to? Maybe. A part of her is of the belief that this may be the last time she can voice those three words to the person in front of her. This may be the last time Beatrice ever gets to hear it. 

Beatrice softens.  

The door shuts.

—

“I love you,” Beatrice stammers out as the door to the car shuts between them.

Ava’s attention jerks upwards from the door handle to Beatrice and everything stills around them. A quizzical look is on Ava’s face, as if she’s not quite sure if she heard correctly. The driver must be asking Ava for a destination because she’s restless as she answers, her gaze flitting back several times to look at Beatrice, Ava’s face a riot of emotions. 

The car door cracks open abruptly and Ava’s eyes search hers. Questioning. Beatrice needs to stop whatever is about to happen, the situation has the potential to get out of hand if she doesn’t get both of their emotions in check. With a small shake of her head, Ava halts her movements and nods in understanding, closing the door again.

Ava turns to speak to the driver again and Beatrice steps back onto the footpath from the curb. The small distance creates a semblance of space that she is desperate for. It scares her how easily the words sprung out of her. The feelings she has been suppressing for almost a year now out in the open again, like they were never really put away properly to begin with. 

The taxi pulls away without warning. 

Taking Ava. 

Taking their words.

Beatrice’s eyes follow the car as it heads down the road. 

A state of complete helplessness washes over her. She mounts an internal debate with herself on the footpath, whether walking back home is the right thing to do, and whether going back to face Sarah immediately after what has just transpired is the wisest action. Agitation is quickly building inside her at what she has just done. And then irrational anger. At Ava. At herself. At Sarah. 

Beatrice begins to walk. Her legs taking her down familiar streets. Her mind is consumed with replaying the conversation she just had with Ava. Over and over again. Until their words intermingle and she no longer knows who said what or who hurt who. And when that’s exhausted and it’s her fourth time passing the same garden with the daffodils, her mind decides to replay everything that has occurred between them for the last three years. 

The crates under her arm begin to feel a lot heavier than they did a few minutes ago. Beatrice isn’t sure if it’s being caused by the impromptu brisk walk, the strain—both physical and mental —that she has found herself under or because they’re a lot heavier than they originally appeared.

Her brain aches to attach itself to a loose thought. Any thought will do at this point. Anything to keep her mind away from Ava. 

She needs to pack. That’s what the crates are for. For the vinyls, so they don’t get damaged during the move. She promised Sarah she would have it done before the tour starts. Crap. Levy will be by later with the rest of them. It pushes her towards the flat. 

Just keep busy, she tells herself. 

The choice has been made, she reminds herself. 

Sarah’s waiting on the footpath outside the garden when Beatrice turns into the street. Her phone’s by her ear and she appears anxious, biting into the side of her cheek. The unease is evident as Sarah hangs up the phone and taps on her screen, thumb coming up to her mouth.  

“There you are,” Sarah almost shouts, walking to meet Beatrice halfway. “I thought something had happened. I just spoke to Levy and he said you guys finished a while ago—that you should have been home already.”

Just how long has she been walking?

“I’m okay. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“Is everything okay?” Sarah loops an arm around Beatrice’s free arm, reaching over to grab at the crates. Beatrice waves her off and they squabble for a few seconds with Sarah eventually grabbing a couple off of her before she can protest further.

“I’m—I don’t know how I feel.” 

They’ve always been honest with one another. Ava’s unexpected visit today will not change that. 

“What do you mean? Were you not able to get enough crates?”

Beatrice takes a deep breath. “Was Ava at the flat?”

Sarah opens the garden gate, and they both squeeze through. “She was. She said she wanted to speak to you. I made her tea. We chatted for a bit before she had to go. I was waiting for you to come home to tell you.” As they silently climb the steps up to the flat Sarah asks, “Should I not have invited her up?”

Beatrice offers a small smile. “No, that was fine, thank you for doing that.”

“Then, what’s up? What’s wrong?”

She grabs Sarah’s arm halfway up the stairs, halting both their ascents. “We spoke.”

“We who?”

“Ava and I.”

“Oh.” Sarah fixes questioning eyes on Beatrice. “You were able to catch her as she left?”

It distresses her. Beatrice feels like she’s done something wrong. Something she can’t take back or begin to explain. “I don’t want to talk about it now if that’s alright.”

Sarah stiffens for a second, but recovers quickly. “Fine—yeah. Okay.” At the top of the steps she holds the door open for both of them. Beatrice feels Sarah’s heavy gaze on her as she slips out of her shoes and grabs at the two crates from under Sarah’s arm. “We don’t need to speak about it now as you’ve asked. I know you prefer your space and time, and I respect you, Beatrice, but we will talk about it.”

And they will. Of that Beatrice is sure.

She’s appreciative of the way Sarah allows her time. Sarah has always given her time. Allowed her to set the pace. To take small steps towards them. Allowed the tentative friendship, sprouting forth from their fencing lessons, to truly flourish and strengthen into something more, into their relationship.

‘I’m content,’ Beatrice had said to Camila when she first brought up Sarah. Camila hadn’t pressed. Just waited for Beatrice to share when she was ready. Even though the band already knew. They had a feeling. She was doing better, they could tell she had finally taken the first few steps in order to move on.  

Honesty had been paramount once her relationship with Sarah began. It was important that Sarah knew what her state of mind was going into it. They understood each other. Knew what the other needed. Sarah knew the demands of Beatrice’s career. And Beatrice knew to give Sarah space to focus when starting on a new book. They complemented each other well. Both finding that perfect balance between their busy lives and schedules. 

The shower’s tap closes, the sound of the pipes rattling briefly echoes across the flat. It plucks Beatrice from her thoughts. Her hands are going through the motions of individually wrapping each vinyl with bubble wrap. Cutting through the plastic sheet with the scissors first—to the perfect rectangular shape—and then flipping the vinyl onto it and taping it securely. Once ready for the move it goes into one of the now assembled crates.

Beatrice stands, pulling the wooden stool to the left, and grabbing a bunch of the records off the top shelf. She flops down onto the floor, ready to start the routine again. The records are all early jazz staples: Etta James, Nat King Cole, Billie Holiday, Chet Baker. They’re the oldest albums in her collection and the most damaged. Passed down from her father. There are years of memories attached to them. When Beatrice wraps them she’s extra careful, there’s a moment when she thinks she has maybe used too much bubble wrap but then thinks better of it, adding more layers. 

Her hands stop on a 7” inch single of ‘Dream A Little Dream of Me’ by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong. The sleeve isn’t facing the right direction. The jacket is going in from above into the plastic sheet rather than on its side for complete dust protection. It’s not how she places them. And Sarah is especially careful when handling these records. When she pulls the record’s sleeve out to correct the error, a small note slips out.

I hope we think of each other at the same time.

Beatrice’s lips part, a choked sort of sound escaping. All at once, she feels like there’s been a collision within her. Her lungs are scrambling to recuperate from the blow. Chest burdened with the desire to expand much bigger than she wants to allow it to. Fingertips barely able to hold the note steady enough to read through it a fifth, sixth and seventh time. She can hear herself whimpering like a wounded animal. Too afraid to be seen but in desperate need of help. Help that she doesn’t deserve. 

The door to the bathroom opens and Sarah steps out. She’s running a towel through her short hair, the steam billowing out behind her. Beatrice attempts to pull back the gasp of air that has come out of her. The gasp, escaping out of pure dread of being caught so defenseless. She wipes at her eyes, but the tears don’t stop. They’re emerging faster than she can rub at her face and dry them.

“I’m going to start din—” Sarah stops and observes. Beatrice knows how this looks. She’s not a crier. It’s not something she allows herself to do. Always a strong front, even when it's unwarranted. 

“I’m sorry—I just got caught up with—”

“Beatrice,” Sarah walks over, hands coming to life Beatrice’s cheeks, thumbs gently rubbing under her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think I can—” she gasps after roughly inhaling through her nose, “I can’t.”

Sarah sinks down to sit crossed-legged beside her for a few seconds, putting the pieces together. Her eyes move from the vinyls, to the wrapping material, and finally to the note tightly clenched in Beatrice’s hand. 

Sarah breathes out. “Come here,” Sarah says, tugging on Beatrice’s arm and bringing her close enough to wipe at her face with the towel.

“I’m sorry,” Beatrice chokes out between a gentle swipe. “I’m so sorry, Sarah.”

The silence stretches across the entire room. It presses further down on Beatrice’s chest. Suffocating her. 

Sarah's hands twist in place. “Was it Ava coming today? Was that it?”

Beatrice nods and Sarah exhales sharply. 

“I don’t know how to get rid of this feeling. I’ve—I’ve tried,” Beatrice chokes out, shame seeping into her person like an endless stream. “I thought I could—I thought I could do this. That I had moved on. You don’t deserve this. I don’t want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you, Sarah.”

“I—” Sarah’s voice falters. “I’m not going to say I understand, because I don’t. All I know is that you’re crying—that you’re hurt and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know if I can fix it.”

Beatrice’s eyes brim with new tears. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she repeats. 

Sarah looks around the living room, to the boxes stacked by the door, some still folded, others half-packed and waiting. “I don’t want to hurt you either, Beatrice.” 

Then she stands and steps back, and Beatrice’s chest aches, hands heavy by her sides. 

—

It’s time.

As the plane gained altitude and left the sprawling metropolis below, the thought plays like a continuous beat in Ava’s head, mimicking the pace of her heartbeat. 

It’s time. 

Throughout the entire two and a half hour flight back to Madrid.

The first thing she does as she gets home to her apartment is to venture into her office and pull open her desk drawer. The bracelets rest in that drawer, intertwined together. The ring, Beatrice’s ring, ensconced safely in its walnut brown box, is gently placed next to the pair of bracelets. Waiting. Hoping.

Her fingertips rub at the lid of the wooden box drawing comfort and strength, for what she’s about to embark upon. Ava looks down at it one final time, sucking in a deep breath and releasing it in one long exhale, before sliding the drawer shut.

‘It’s time’, is all Ava texts Emilia and Alice as a precursor, as a heads up before what she is about to do.

Her hand trembles a little, her thumb leaving a slightly sweaty imprint on the phone screen as she settles deeper into her couch, navigating to the prepared message in her Notes app.

Her lips move along minutely as she silently reads the words to herself yet again. Reads and rereads the public relations message, crafted by her team and signed off by the label. The words that do not sound like her—not Ava the person—the words do not strike a chord within her. 

Fuck it.

She quickly pulls up a photo from her phone’s gallery, the photo of a rainbow that she had seen from her balcony a few days following Beatrice’s first and unexpected visit to her apartment in Madrid. 

"Breaking news: I’m bisexual. Turns out, I swing both ways and still can't hit a decent piñata."

The moment she posts the picture and message on Instagram, an instantaneous sense of relief and exhilaration rises up and spills out into happy laughter.

She’s done it. No more hiding. She’s free.

As her phone begins to vibrate nonstop with notifications, she quickly shuts the phone down and tosses it onto the coffee table.

The team can handle it.

—

Bea

[Congratulations.]

That’s it. That’s all Beatrice had texted her two days after she had come out.

And then radio silence. Nothing, not a peep from Beatrice in three weeks.

The shutters of her bedroom windows remain firmly shut, her bedroom a dark and silent expanse. Perfectly conducive to the wallowing that is happening.

Any hope that Ava had when she left Beatrice on that London sidewalk, the taxi driving her away, has gradually wilted and withered away.

Her fingers burrow into the material of her pillow, clenching it tightly over her head, facedown into the mattress as she sloshes about in her well of self-pity. Running over the events again and again in her brain. And she knows. She knows that she’s done everything possible and said all that she wanted to say to Beatrice that day. 

Maybe it wasn’t enough. 

She knows she can’t dwell on this. That she shouldn’t. But she’s earned the right to cry a little every morning and nurse her broken heart before she gets up and goes about with her day, right?

—

March

“Tendré más cuidado. No te preocupes, me aseguraré de que tenga suficiente humedad esta vez.” (I'll be more careful. Don't worry, I'll make sure it gets enough humidity this time.) Ava reassures the store clerk when her face becomes a shade paler than before Ava walked in. It’s the fourth plant this month. She’s trying. But something is telling her this is the last one she’ll be allowed to buy before she becomes persona non grata. 

Soon there will be a picture of her plastered behind the counter. A warning not to sell to the plant murderer.

The clerk waves her off and Ava catches her doing the sign of the cross from the side of her eye. Yeah. No amount of blessings is going to help this little dude survive. Its predecessors all fell into the case of crispy leaf syndrome before succumbing to inevitable death at her hands. She was meant to keep it moist, but apparently plants can be too moist. And honestly, Ava has had enough. Dalí the fourth here is going to have to adjust quickly if he is to survive. 

There’s barely any cloud coverage today, the Sun’s rays coming down strongly. It sizzles her skin the moment Ava steps out of the plant shop. She adjusts the totes on both her arms. One filled with fresh fruits and vegetables from nearby local stands. The other, carrying a bouquet of Spring flower bulbs just waiting to burst open with life. 

Ava squishes her toes into her sandals, adjusts Dalí the fourth against her hip, and pops her sunglasses back on with her free hand. The bucket hat on her head doing the majority of the work when it comes to blocking out the scorching sun from her face.

Next up on the list is Dulce’s cafe. She can practically taste the Miguelito and cafe con leche that awaits her. 

A motorbike zooms by and she bounds forward to make it across the street—some of Dalí’s dirt bouncing out of the pot and onto the pavement below—before a car honks and she almost almost gives it the finger. She adjusts herself and sets her sights on La Colmena.

With her hand on the door, Ava stills, her eyes widening at who she sees inside. 

(Y)(S)

I want your love, don't try and stop me

Can't get enough, still hanging on me

Your guilty heart, don't let it break you

And if you pray, well no one's gonna save you 

Beatrice smiles widely as she chats with Dulce. Hands excitedly moving about as the conversation continues. This is something Beatrice only does when she speaks Spanish, a habit picked up from Ava when she emphasised a point and felt particularly strong emotions. Witnessing it out in the wild fills her with so much affection that she has to physically take several steps back. 

Beatrice is here.

Beatrice is here in Madrid.

Beatrice is here in Madrid buying Miguelitos from Dulce.

It’s the most beautiful sight in the world.

Like every one that your fear

And every thing you hold dear

Even the book in your pocket

You are the sun and the light

You are the freedom I fight

God will do nothing to stop it

The origin is you

You're the origin of love

Ava is unable to stand still. She keeps twisting and turning to check that it is in fact Beatrice inside the cafe. The sunglasses and bucket hat come off at some point, discarded without another thought and Ava wishes she had put on contacts because she’s currently doubting her own eyes. And her heart won't stop hammering in her chest. Dalí the fourth and the tote bags abandoned on top of one of the outside tables. 

Beatrice’s hair is neatly pulled into a low bun, two strands of  her hair artfully framing her perfect face. The black short-sleeved jumpsuit Beatrice is wearing is flowy and airy, the perfect outfit for a hot day like today. Ava can’t stop looking because Beatrice is here. She needs to get a hold of her emotions because her mind is going a thousand kilometres an hour. Relentlessly yelling ‘Beatrice is here! Beatrice is here! Beatrice is here!’ for the last few minutes.

She breathes in and holds it. Counts it down ten, nine, eight, seven, six, fi—

Beatrice is moving.

Ava bounces on her heels in anticipation.

Beatrice’s free hand is on the front door, the other carrying a pastry box.

Ava’s hands open and close by her side in pure panic.

This is it.

Beatrice steps out and Ava’s breath catches in her lungs.

Their eyes meet.

Like stupid Adam and Eve

They found their love in a tree

God didn't think they deserved it

He taught them hate, taught them pride

Gave them a leaf, made them hide

Let's push the stories aside

You know the origin is you

Ava must have caught Beatrice by surprise because she appears slightly dazed, coming to a stop just a few metres from each other. Her lips tilt upwards before her gaze falls to the ground bashfully.

She’s eyesmiling. Beatrice is eyesmiling at the ground. The tips of her ears pinkening ever so slightly.

Ava brings her hand up for an awkward sort of wave. “Hello,” she says, and it sounds as stupid as she feels saying it. But it gets the desired effect. Beatrice looks up and smiles brightly, directly at her, returning Ava’s wave. “You’re here.”

Beatrice takes a few steps, closing the short distance between them. “I’m here,” she confirms while nodding quickly. The pastry box is gently placed onto the table, next to Dalí the fourth and the totes. “You got a plant? Last time you got a plant it—”

The world blurs as Ava collides into Beatrice, arms wrapping around her neck tightly. Relief floods out of Ava when Beatrice doesn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around Ava. Pulling her close until there’s no space left. Ava buries her nose into the crook of Beatrice’s neck, inhaling the familiar scent of lavender and something else that is entirely Beatrice. Everything she has missed. Beatrice’s hands press firmly, holding her just as tightly. It sends goosebumps down her neck as Beatrice breathes her in as well. 

No words are needed. 

Home. At last.

From the air I breathe, to the love I need

Only thing I know, you're the origin of love

From the God above, to the one I love

(*)

Yesterday I saw the sun shining

And the leaves were fallin' down softly

My cold hands needed a warm, warm touch

And I was thinkin' about you

As Beatrice sits on one of the numerous benches aligned parallel to each other at Union Square Park, a sudden cool Autumn breeze streams through the trees causing her to pull her coat’s collar closer, nose digging into the material seeking out any kind of warmth it can provide. The hot coffee had run out about thirty minutes ago and she was now much too comfortable and scared—just in case—to go wandering off for more.

The statue of the Marquis de Lafayette had been her only companion in the still hours of the morning. He's constantly confusin', confoundin' the British henchmen, ev'ryone give it up for America's favorite fighting Frenchman. Lafayette! That and the ever looping lyrics from Hamilton. Curse you Camila.

This morning, she is aggravatingly early. Even by her own standards. The market doesn’t open until 8 a.m. and from the last lap she did down E 17th St, the vendors had only just finished setting up their stands. Each filled to the brim with fresh produce, copious amounts of bread—still warm from the oven, or buckets upon buckets of colourful flowers just waiting to be taken home to be put in a vase—and left to die, etc, etc, etc. 

Union Square Market is not a place she has frequented, correction, it’s not a place she has come to at all. She prefers to streamline her access to groceries, accompanied with the creature comforts of heaters and air conditioning, dependent on the weather. Not this. She doesn’t normally have time for this. Nor does she think it necessary to make the time. Beatrice doesn’t have time for much outside of her strict regiment.

Which brings us to why she’s here. Or. The better question, who she’s here for. Because the why isn’t important. Not really. Only the who.

And the ‘who’ in question is Ava Silva. 

Ava Silva, who stole her cold drip coffee one mundane morning and ever since then, her heart has yet to recover from the blow.

The poor thing is a complete mess right now. Her heart, that is. Not Beatrice. Well, admittedly if asked at knife point, she would agree, but this isn’t the case, so, Beatrice is in fact not a mess. No, sir. Not one bit. She would spurn such notions. How absolutely silly to think otherwise. Absolutely unfathomable.

During practice, Lilith had said with an almost self satisfied smirk, “I bet a headless chicken can outspin you, your pirouettes are all over the place today. And don’t you dare attempt a tour en l’air, you may actually injure yourself.”

While having lunch Camila had reached over and taken not one, but three tteokbokki from Beatrice’s plate, an act so criminal in its nature that it had taken several days, a lot of pouting, and puppy dog eyes, to forgive. “You usually inhale your food so I just assumed you weren’t that hungry. Did you fall asleep listening to Norah Jones again?”

Yasmine had punctured through her tutu, with the needle long enough to pierce skin, yet, they both stared in wonder as Beatrice had barely flinched or registered the pain. “Hmm,” Yasmine hummed, pulling the needle out without a second thought. “I should probably get the medkit. I think it went deeper than I first thought.”

The absentmindedness had begun then. And it still has yet to stop. 

But here I am lookin' for signs to lead me

You hold my hand, but do you really need me?

I guess it's time for me to let you go

But I'll be thinkin' about you

I'll be thinkin' about you

Ava Silva had figured out her coffee order a few days later. Plastic coffee cup in hand and what appeared to be a slightly smudged set of numbers starting with (212) written around the side. The condensation already making its way through the ink and leaving the numbers difficult to make out.

“Crap,” Ava had exclaimed, followed by an annoyingly endearing pout. “In my mind that went a lot smoother.”

What had caught Beatrice off guard the most was how quickly she had pulled her phone out of her back pocket. Fingers awkwardly navigating the well memorised button path to her contacts as nervousness consumed her whole. And Beatrice knew she had been painfully obvious with how disconcerting and out of the norm it had all been because Ava had chuckled fondly beside her. A peculiar, bemused smile playing by the corner of her lips.

And that had been it. That had been it for Beatrice. Ava had sent her off on a tailspin from which she has yet to recover.  

A strange sort of haze has taken over her life. A haze in the sense of just how new this all felt. 

Everywhere she looked, there was Ava.

Ava was in the gradient of yellow, orange and red Autumn leaves. 

Ava was in the chatter, car honks, and construction noises that followed Beatrice everywhere she went. 

Ava was in the very air she breathed, a rate which fluctuated from 12 to 20 breaths per minute, just from spotting her across the cafe each morning.

Beatrice is early because last night she had, by some sort of divine miracle, managed to gather enough courage to climb back up Ava’s emergency fire escape ladder, knocked on her window –– Ava barely holding in her startled shriek before she had realised it was Beatrice, and hurriedly thrown open the sliding window, stared at her lips for exactly three seconds before leaning in and brushing their lips together.

And then she alighted from the fire escape like she had committed a robbery, stolen a jewel perhaps. Scrambling down the freezing metal of the ladder, and running like a headless chicken right back down into the freezing New York City night.

Ava Silva

[Why did you leave in such a hurry?]

[Need to get a good night’s rest before the market tomorrow.]

[Uh-huh.]

[Yeah-huh.]

[8:30 okay?]

[You’re being very cute and avoidant right now.]

[Who says? I don’t know what you mean.]

[8:30 it is!]

[You’ll have to keep me in check. I have class at 1pm.]

[No promises.]

[Best I can do is try.]

[Don’t forget to bring a scarf. It’s going to be a cold morning.]

[I won’t.]

[Goodnight!]

[Goodnight, Ava.]

[Are you thinking about it as much as I am?]

[I haven’t stopped thinking about it since it happened.]

Approaching footsteps startle Beatrice from her thoughts. 

Ava’s cheeks are pink from the cold, little puffs of warm air emitting from her parted lips. She awkwardly waves with two occupied hands, coffee cups swaying from side to side. Liquid gold in danger of bubbling out from the lids. “Hello,” Ava says, coming to a stop. A red knitted scarf wrapped around her neck. She extends one of the coffee cups out for Beatrice to take. “I thought we agreed on 8:30.”

“Is it too early to let you know that I am scarily early to everything? Besides… you’re early too.” Beatrice replies and it makes Ava laugh, enjoying the sight of what is probably a very embarrassing shade of red brewing on her face. 

Ava doesn’t reply right away. Probably taking in all the nervous energy radiating out of the both of them and figuring out a way to dissipate it. 

The world begins to feel smaller. Quietening down to just the two of them.

“I think some of the stalls are open already,” Ava says, now lifting her free hand for Beatrice to take, fingers wiggling around.

“Oh…um.” 

“My hand.”

“Grab it?”

“Yes. That’s what it’s for.”

Their fingers intertwine easily. Slotting perfectly together, almost as if that would have been the case all along. Ava gives a small squeeze, curling her fingers around slowly until their palms come together, before giving their joined hands a tug and pulling Beatrice off the park bench. Their eyes meet somewhere in the middle of the action. And Beatrice watches on as Ava’s eyes adjust to the change in height, tilting her head upwards to not break eye contact. 

And then both smile and neither let go. 

So when you sail across the ocean waters

And you reach the other side safely

Could you smile a little smile for me?

'Cause I'll be thinkin' about you

I'll be thinkin' about you

I'll be thinkin' about you